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Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

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Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 

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A Popular Southern Author 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

Robert Grant 

Helen V. Greyson and E. Werner. 

Amelia E. Barr 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

August Niemann 

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An Original Story of Adventnre, 


IN THE CHINA SEA. 


SEWARD W. HOPKINS, 

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across the seas. The story deals with the disappearance of a 
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wonderful narrations. An unknown people of strange customs, 
manners and appearance is introduced. A great war is started, 
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I 


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FOR ANOTHER’S WRONG 


51 ^"ODcl. 


BY 


W. HEIMBU^. 





AUTHORIZED 7RANSLATION 




BY 


A. W/ AYER and H. T. SLATE. 


ky^ 

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\ • 


WITH ILLUSTHATfONS BY JAMES FAQ AN. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S 

PUBLISHERS. 





THE LtDCCR LIBRARY ! ISSUED MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, SIX DOLLARS PER ANNUM, NO. 1tS> 
FEBRUARY 1, 18«8. ENTERED AT THE NBW YORK> N. Y. v OffrCt AS SEOONO CLASS MAIL MATTER. 




. ft 3 7 Tow 


Copyright, 1894, 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 

f All rightH reserved.) 







FOR ANOTHER’S WRONG. 


CHAPTER I. 

U I ^ VERY one has his guardian angel,” my father 
I ^ used to say. Now one’s usual conception of 
an angel is a golden-haired, airy-robed and 
white-winged being that hovers invisible near the per- 
son entrusted to his care, and opportunely steps in to 
prevent any calamity befalling him. But this is only 
a belief of early youth. Later on one sees the guardian 
angel in his real form, which, among other things, has 
nothing supernatural about it. 

When Frau Wollmeyer, the town councilor’s wife, 
died, and I stood with mamma beside her coffin, I cer- 
tainly did not suspect that she had been an angel in 
disguise — a guardian angel. At that time the thought 
would have appeared very droll to me, in spite of the 
solemnity of the occasion. Not until later did I come 
to recognize how faithful she had been to her charge, 
and I comprehended that an angelic exterior is a sec- 

[ 7 ] 




8 


FOR another's wrong. 


ondary consideration where this vocation is con- 
cerned. 

Whether the widower, who stood beside her coffin, 
giving vent to his emotion in such a violent blowing of 
the nose that it seemed as though he were trying to 
wake the dead woman from her sleep — whether Coun- 
cilor Wollmeyer had a suspicion of what he had lost 
in her, was uncertain. To Cousin Himmel, the dead 
woman’s cousin — who for many years had eaten the 
bitter bread of dependence in the Wollmeyer house- 
hold — it was perfectly clear. 

What is to become of him now ?” she said, brushing 
the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron. 
“ She was his good angel, Hanna was !” 

These few simple words were a finer eulogy than 
any that was pronounced over her grave. 

Just a year had passed since then. I sat with my 
mother at the sitting-room window, in the dusk of the 
autumn evening. She had folded her delicate hands, 
usually so busy, and was looking down into the court- 
yard. We did not speak. I was trying to recall the 
dead woman as she had been in life. Frau Hannchen 
Wollmeyer had borne but a slight resemblance to her 
cousin. The latter was thin, with grave, almost stern 
features, usually uncommunicative and chary of words. 
Hannchen had been plump — too stout, in fact — always 
ready with her tears and her tongue, and stood in con- 
stant nervous fear of her lord and master. But the 
two possessed in common the virtue of true womanli- 
ness — the ready sympathy for the joys and sorrows of 


FOR another’s wrong. 


9 


others, and the striving to fulfill to the utmost the dic- 
tates of duty, though the last was not always easy for 
them. And there was still another resemblance be- 
tween them — they both had a touching affection for 
me. “ Hannchen is very fond of you,” her cousin often 
used to say. 

Ah, yes ; I knew that well. Numberless were the 
small and yet so important joys of my childhood that 
I owed to her goodness. She had had one child — a 
girl — and had lost it. She would tearfully produce, 
on winter afternoons, the dolls and the little cooking- 
stove that had belonged to her lost darling, and let me 
play with them. She taught me the mournful volk- 
songs that pass from mouth to mouth in the Thu- 
ringian forest. The taller I grew, the more Frau 
Hannchen’s heart went out to me. 

“ I think my little one would have been as large as 
she is now, cousin,” she would say. 

Poor Hannchen Wollmeyer ! She was so glad to 
die. So her cousin declared ; and a few days before 
her death, she herself told my mother the same thing, 
as she sat for the last time in the warm sunlight and 
looked out into the beautiful old garden. 

“ I am very glad to go. I am tired of life,” she 
said. “ It is hard to be always sitting in a bath-chair 
and not able to do anjThing. Besides, I 'm in the way. 
When I 've been dead a year he can marry another 
woman ; an educated woman, better suited to him, 
and of whom he need not be ashamed. And if what 
the superintendent says is true — that I shall see my lit- 


10 


FOR another’s wrong. 


tie one again — I shall have nothing more to wish 
for.” 

‘‘ But, Frau Wollmeyer,” my mother had replied, 
“ how can you talk so ? Your husband will miss you 
very, very much ; and your cousin and other people, 
too. Isn’t it so, Anneliese ?” 

“ No, no, he won’t miss me, Frau von Sternberg ; 
God knows he won’t ! Long ago, in Langenwalde, 
when we were first married, and lived in the dear old 
mill, and worked together for our daily bread and for 
our little one’s future — yes, I dare say he would not 
have been glad to let me go then. But now he is rich 
and distinguished, and is on friendly terms with all the 
first people here — no, he won’t be sorry now.” 

And Hannchen had died in the belief that she was 
freeing him from a great burden. 

Don’t be unhappy, Wollmeyer,” she had said. “ I 
don’t bear you any ill-will.” And she had added some- 
thing else with a failing voice and a full, earnest 
glance, such as eyes can have before they close for- 
ever — something that I did not learn until much later 
through Cousin Himmel, who had heard it, although it 
was intended for the husband’s ears alone. “ Do not 
forget what you promised me ! Do not forget Robert, 
Wollmeyer —his father. If I am to rest in the grave, 
make restitution — soon, Wollmeyer, soon !” 

He must have promised, for she had pressed his 
hand and had peacefully fallen asleep, repeating : 

“ Don’t be unhappy.” 

And now it was just a year since they had buried 


FOR another’s wrong. 


11 


Hannchen, and everything was apparently going on 
the same, until that day ! After that it was very dif- 
ferent. In the first place, as I was on my way with 
my books to my literature class, Cousin Himmel met 
me on the stairs. Instead of the black crape cap, she 
wore a white one, as she had done previous to Hann- 
chen’s death, and also a white apron. She caught my 
astonished look and said : 

“ True mourning is within, Fraulein Anneliese ; 
black clothes have nothing to do with it.” 

In the second place, I met the widower in a new, 
gray, stove-pipe hat, yellow gloves and a new, dark- 
blue suit. 

“ Your humble servant, Fraulein Anneliese !” he 
called to me across the whole width of the street, wav- 
ing his hand with his usual benevolent gesture. 

“ What is the matter with him ?” thought I, and I 
returned his salute very haughtily, as I always did, for 
it vexed me when his manner became too familiar. 
Papa could not endure it, either. 

I had just been telling my mother of my observa- 
tions, without being able to gain her attention, and so 
we both sat looking down in silence at the linden- 
shaded courtyard, as it lay in the twilight, and out 
through the open gate, where the withered leaves were 
dancing in an eddying circle over the wretched paving 
of the deserted square. 

The whole room was filled with the perfume of 
Gloire de Dijon roses. Mamma had not said a word 
to the sender of these beautiful flowers. I can still 


FOR another's wrong. 


see my mother so distinctly before me. I^he was 
paler than she had been for a long time. I thought 
that she was worrying again, and was grieving for 
papa more than usual during these autumn days. 
Therefore, I was all the more astonished when she 
suddenly said : 

“ We must look about for another apartment, 
Anneliese.” 

Her words fell upon me like a thunderbolt. We had 
lived here ever since I could remember. When papa 
first rented the apartment, the ancient, castle-like 
structure had belonged to Baron von Serrenburg. He 
had been a friend of my dear , father’s, and when he 
was forced to sell the place, six months before papa’s 
death, and Councilor Wollmeyer had bid it in, the 
councilor, at Baron Serrenburg’s request, had extended 
my father’s lease. It had never entered my head, until 
now, that there could ever be any change. 

Are we paying too high a rent, mamma ?” I asked, 
sorrowfully. 

I had no accurate knowledge of the state of my 
mother’s finances. I only knew that we were very 
poor. 

“ Yes ; or rather we are paying a too absurdly low 
one, Anneliese. Uncle Serrenburg originally asked 
papa a very small sum. But, after all, of what use are 
these great rooms ? We could dispense with so much 
of the furniture, and then — ” 

“And how is it that we accept a gift from Councilor 
Wollmeyer in the form of too low a rent V* I inter- 


FOR another's wrong. 


13 


rupted, unpleasantly affected by the thought that we 
were not paying the full value of the apartment. 
“ You are going to give notice to-morrow for January, 
mamma ?” 

She nodded. 

“ We shall have lived here just fifteen years. You 
were two years old when papa was stationed here as 
commandant.” 

“ Yes, I am getting to be very old, mamma,” I said, 
with an attempt at playfulness. 

And then I pressed my forehead against the panes, 
so that my mother should not see how overcome I was 
at the thought of leaving the dear old rooms in which 
I had enjoyed and had lost the most beautiful posses- 
sion of my young life — the love of a father who idol- 
ized me, and whom I idolized in turn ; who had always 
been my ideal of what a man should be, and is to this 
day ; so chivalrous, so honorable, so distinguished, and 
yet so content with a frugal if not poverty-stricken 
existence. 

Poor papa ! It need not have been so if my mother’s 
brother had not laid upon him a heavy burden, which 
my father, for love of his wife, bore without complaint. 
Not only without complaint, but with perfect cheerful- 
ness. On quarter days — those days so full of anxiety 
for people without means — when he reckoned and 
reckoned, and now and then laid by a pitiful little sum, 
after deducting the items that had to be paid, he was 
more lovable and cheerful than ever, and treated his 
sorrowful young wife with the tenderest consideration. 


14 


FOR another's wrong. 


“ Helene,” he often used to say, “ if you would only 
be a little more contented, I wouldn’t change with a 
king. And tell me, what are we really denying our- 
selves ? I, for one, absolutely nothing.” 

‘‘Everything, except the bare necessities,” she re- 
plied. 

“ Indeed ! I am curious to know what.” 

“ A saddle-horse, for instance.” 

“ I can’t ride with rheumatism in my arm.” 

“And a visit to the baths for this same rheumatism.” 

“ Nonsense ! That ’s the most tiresome amusement 
in the world. The river bathing does just as well. If 
you can’t think of anything better — ” 

“ Your wine cellar — your library !” she interrupted, 
almost in tears. “ You haven’t bought any new books 
for years or a bottle of wine.” 

“ The beer is so excellent here that I don’t miss the 
wine. And as for books, one can borrow them so 
easily — ” 

“ You love society so much,” she persisted. 

“ Councilor Wollmeyer asked me to dinner day be- 
fore yesterday,” he answered, suppressing a smile. 

“ Do you call that society ?” she retorted, tossing her 
beautiful head. 

“You don’t understand a joke, do you, Helene? 
The few people we like come to us for a cup of tea. 
I never was a dining-out man or — Do you miss the 
carnival balls at Cologne ?” 

“ Oh, I ? No, no !” 

“ Then, Helene, we are the happiest people in the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


15 


world, if you would only believe it, and if you will 
wipe the tears from your eyes and laugh. Or aren’t 
we ? Don’t we love each other 7 And haven’t we a 
very tolerable child Here he indicated me with a 
comical grimace. “ I admit that she might be a little 
better and a little prettier, but — H’m !” 

And when I ran, shouting, into his arms and kissed 
him, he whispered : 

“Go to your mother and give her a kiss, too, or 
she ’ll be jealous ; and tlien come into the garden and 
we ’ll run races.” 

Yes, we really used to play there like two madcap 
children, without detriment, however, to his fatherly 
dignity. It was from my father that I learned climb- 
ing and rowing and gymnastics and all sorts of “sense- 
less tricks,” as he laughingly called them. From him, 
too, I learned to give freely and gladly to the poor, for 
no man who approached him went away empty-handed. 
He was as ready and eager to give away his few 
groschen when he saw actual want as he had been to 
sacrifice his entire little fortune in order to enable 
Uncle Herbert, mamma’s only brother, to continue his 
studies ; for just when the latter was about to take his 
examination for doctor of law, old General Platten- 
hauser, mamma’s father, died, and as he had had noth- 
ing but his pension, Uncle Herbert’s career would have 
been ended had not his brother-in-law offered to ad- 
vance the necessary means. Whether the loss of his 
little fortune really troubled my father, we never 
learned. If it did, he never betrayed it. 


16 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Helene,” he used to say, when he pocketed the 
absurdly small remnant of his salary, which a gram- 
mar-school boy would have scorned as pocket-money — 
“ Helene, as long as one has four groschen left over, 
not even a prince can ask more.” 

“ 1 hope you made both ends meet, wife,” he would 
sometimes say teasingly. Or did you get the rascals 
t6 give you credit ?” 

Poverty did not weigh heavily upon him. 

The first time his house ever became uncomfortable 
to him was when Herr Wollmeyer bought the Castle,” 
for so the huge frame building with the round turret 
was called. 

** Serrenburg shouldn’t have inflicted this upon me,” 
he remarked, when the councilor informed him by let- 
ter that he was his future landlord. But, after all, 
Lenchen, he couldn’t very well help it.” 

So the Herr Councilor moved in with a motley col- 
lection of modern furniture and old, commonplace 
household belongings from which his wife had not 
been able to tear herself. 

He lived on the ground floor for the time being, but 
assured every one that when Major von Sternberg 
should be transferred, he would occupy the first floor. 
It may be said, by the way, that we occupied only half 
of this floor, and the smaller half at that. The old 
ball-room, the picture gallery and the armor-room 
were quite superfluous, and here Herr Wollmeyer could 
have easily taken up his abode. 

He, nevertheless, established himself provisionally 



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FOR another’s wrong. 


17 


on the lower floor. Hannchen, he said, would not hear 
of climbing stairs, and her doctor confirmed her in her 
resolution. He did not mean to earn the reputation 
of an inconsiderate husband. He always spoke with 
affectionate compassion of his “ good ” wife And so 
the birch furniture, with its flowered coverings, was 
displayed on the ground floor of the castle, as it had 
formerly been in the house on Wasserstrasse ; and the 
councilor contented himself with receiving his callers 
in the fashionably furnished study, and remarking, 
with an explanatory wink, that Hannchen, good soul, 
clung so to her old habits that he hadn’t the heart to 
make her unhappy. 

The relations between landlord and tenant were 
quite remarkable. The councilor paid formal court at 
the “ mayor’s ” — as long as it cost him nothing, of 
course. He shut his eyes to dilapidated ovens and 
other pressingly needed repairs ; but, on the other 
hand, he was very glad to see my father’s imposing 
figure go in and out of his house, and, better still, sit 
at his table when he had the notables of the place to 
dinner. 

My father’s adjutant was well treated, too, But 
he was especially attentive to my mother, who was 
admired and respected as the model of a fine lady 
throughout the little town. 

My father requited all this with as icy a reserve as 
was possible. 

“ I think more of the wife’s little finger than I do of 
the husband’s whole body,” he used to say. 


18 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


And he always treated her with as much respect and 
courtesy as if she had really been a fine lady. 

My mother was friendly toward them both ; that is 
to say, with the kind of friendliness that places a wide 
gulf between oneself and the person to whom it is ac- 
corded — a gulf which, indeed, was not observed by the 
councilor, but which Hannchen and Cousin Himmel 
studiously respected. 

Cousin Himmel gained even my father’s esteem. 

There’s a woman of the good old stamp, Lenchen,” 
he would say. “ She *s as determined as a grenadier 
and gentle as a true woman. Wherever she rules, 
things will be done decently and in order ; the wash 
will be snowy white and the food appetizing ; the serv- 
ants and the stock will get their portion, and she will 
always have a word of comfort in times of trouble. I 
know why you laugh, Lenchen ; but I tell you I like 
her dreadful German better than the choicest drawing- 
room conversation. Old Wrangel didn’t speak correctly 
either. You couldn’t find a better woman for practical 
life. She and the countess — all due respect to the 
countess — would make a good pair, Lenchen.” 

I have never thought more of these words — never 
recognized their truth more fully — than in the sad 
days when the light of our lives was suddenly extin- 
guished and the dark night set in for my mother and 
me. My father died after a two days’ illness. Then 
it was that I discovered for the first time that this old, 
insignificant cousin was an angel — a guardian angel, 
and even mine. When she drew my head to her breast 


FOR another's WRONO. 


19 


and said in the much-ridiculed German, her voice 
hoarse with suppressed weeping, “ You have lost a 
geat deal, Annelieschen. Have your cry out, or your 
heart will break. It was just so with me when my 
Hannchen died, and it wasn’t until the tears came that 
I came to myself,” I thought I felt the angel’s wings 
fold about me soft and tender and comforting, so that 
my wild sorrow found relief in tears. 

And she took charge of the widow also, gently and 
lovingly, as a mother might. Mamma was still young 
then — just thirty-two — and her poor, troubled brain 
could not grasp the fact that her life’s stay, her life’s 
love, was gone forever. Many a night through Cousin 
Himmel sat by the bedside of the despairing woman, 
who asked nothing of God but that he would take her 
likewise, for she could not live without her husband. 
The good soul listened patiently to this. But when 
the outburst of despair had given place to a blank 
silence, and complete indifference set in, my guardian 
angel spoke and brought back light and force of will 
to the poor young widow’s tortured brain. 

“ There ’s Annelieschen, gnddige Frau — she looks as 
though the wind had blown her to pieces. I don’t be- 
lieve any one ’s combed her hair for a week. If she 
was a few years older, she might get on if you worried 
yourself into your grave ; but she ’s only thirteen, and 
that ’s a bit too young to do without a mother. Anne- 
lieschen, come here, my dear, and show yourself to the 
gnddige Frau. Why, you ’re all wet. Have you been 
out in the rain again to your father’s grave ? Well, go 


20 


FOR another's wrong. 


and catch cold. " can’t help it if you get consumption 
and die." 

My mother had raised herself and looked at me sur- 
prised and startled, as though she had never seen me 
before. Then she stretched out her arms to me im- 
petuously. 

“Oh," she sobbed, “ you poor, poor child ! What will 
become of you without him — without him ?" 

My guardian angel went softly away, and we cried 
together in the consciousness that even if much had 
been taken from us, there was a great deal still left us 
in each other. 

My mother had even then begun to think of chang- 
ing her home ; but the guardian angel had come and 
had said, would the gnddige Frau forgive her, but the 
lease still ran for three years and a half. 

So we remained in the apartment, which by rights 
was far too expensive for us, in spite of its cheapness. 
But it was a comfort to us both to go on living in the 
dear old rooms, and my mother saved in every possible 
way in order to meet the modest rent every quarter. 

My mother needed scarcely anything for herself. 
All her little savings were spent on me — on my studies, 
on my modest pleasures, on nourishing food. I did 
not suspect that she embroidered for money while I 
was at school. I did not see the sacrifice — did not 
understand it. Children are so masterful in their way 
of thinking. 

So it was a painful surprise to me when my mother 
spoke of her intention to give notice. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


n 

After a long silence, my mother turned to me again 
with some question relative to our going. We debated 
whether we should remain in Westenberg or go to 
some larger city, where there would surely be better 
opportunities for me to find a position in life. But we 
came at last to the conclusion that we would not leave 
this place, where we had good friends and — papa’s 
grave. 

“ I will write to Wollmeyer to-morrow,” said my 
mother. “ Papa always transacted his business with 
him by letter, and I think it is far better so.” 

With this resolve, we sought our bedroom. It hap- 
pened during the night that mamma asked me several 
times whether I was crying, and that I gave her no 
answer, but tried to stifle my sobs in the pillows ; and 
then I in turn thought I heard my mother sobbing 
softly. 

The letter was composed the following morning, and 
the charwoman — we had no maid, for economical rea- 
sons — took the letter down to Councilor Wollmeyer. 

And in the afternoon, while I was taking a French 
lesson with a widowed French lady, who had drifted 
by chance into Westenberg, and who spoke her beau- 
tiful language in a really classic, old-fashioned style, 
mamma set out to talk over our proposed change of 
residence with her old friend, Countess Degenberg. 



CHAPTER II. 

Adele, Countess Degenberg, was the leader of our 
little circle, which kept most exclusively to itself. It 
was composed entirely of people of good birth, how- 
ever poor they might be — a few retired officers, among 
them Major von Tollen, who died so suddenly on his 
daughter’s wedding-day ; the postmaster. Von Blessow, 
a former captain ; Von Burwitz, a landed proprietor in 
bygone days, now the agent for an insurance company; 
and a well-born clergyman, who had left the cavalry 
to enter the church. The only plebeian element toler- 
ated was represented by the other three clergymen of 
Westenberg ; the health inspector, who enjoyed the 
honor of being our common family physician ; and, 
incidentally, Herr Wollmeyer — after he had become a 
widower, be it understood. 

These were the elect of Westenberg, and it must be 
admitted that they stuck together through thick and 
thin. They made things pleasant for one another. 
They helped one another as far as they could. And 
whenever a collision took place — noblesse oblige — the 
matter was carefully kept secret, and seldom did any- 
thing fall to the gossips of the “ outer ” circle. 

[ 22 ] 


FOR another’s wrong. 


23 


Countess Degenberg, as has already been said, was 
the leader of the “ inner ” circle. She was related to 
some of the highest nobility of the province. She was 
kind and clever. An atmosphere of wealth surrounded 
her. She had a private income of her own, so people 
believed, and owned a small house in Westenberg, 
fitted up with her parents’ household furniture. The 
brilliant reminiscences of her youth, when, as the 
daughter of one of the duke’s ministers, she was sur- 
rounded by the glamour of court life, were a never- 
failing source of delight to her. The old gentlewoman 
was an infallible authority on all questions of etiquette 
and good breeding, courteous toward subordinates, 
haughty toward the members of the “ outer ” circle, 
and always ready to give advice to her friends, the 
confidant of women young and in domestic troubles. 
Not averse to a blunt witticism within her own circle, 
especially at whist, she was ready to take offense at 
the slightest breach of etiquette on the part of some 
younger person. She might have served as a living 
peerage and a walking chronicle of all the interesting 
family stories. She was an old friend of my mother’s 
parents, “ thee’d ” and thou’d ” mamma, and always 
spoke of me condescendingly as the “ chicken.” She 
always spoke of my father as having been her ideal of 
a perfect gentleman, and for this reason I loved her 
with a reverential affection. My mother, however, was 
her recognized favorite. 

“ She is distinguished to her very finger-tips,” she 
once said to me. “ You are not much like her, unfor- 


24 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Innately, Anneliese. Did you ever see such a noble 
profile, such an aristocratic hand ? And even her walk 
— such repose in her movements, her gestures ! It ’s 
born in her. Chicken. It ’s breeding. What a superb 
court-lady she would make ! And how she wears her 
gowns ! If I didn’t know that she is pressed for money, 
I should take her for a millionairess. Your mother is 
comme il faut ; very comme il faut^ Anneliese.” 

It was to her that mamma had gone. She remained 
away a long time. My teacher had taken her departure 
long before. And I was on pins and needles as I 
waited, for, in the first place. Cousin Himmel had in- 
quired for her, and, in the second, the postman had 
come with a letter, sealed with five great seals, which 
could only be delivered to mamma in person — some- 
thing that had not happened since papa’s death. 

At last I could stand it no longer, and putting on my 
hat and coat, I went to look for her at the countess’s. 
The old maid-servant opened the door and whispered 
— a low voice was one of the requirements of good 
breeding at the countess’s ; she herself was the only 
exception permitted, for she had a voice like a cavalry 
sergeant-major’s, and made the most efficient use of it 
— that Frau von Sternberg was still there, and that I 
was to wait in the salon while she announced me. I 
was left standing opposite a large mirror in the cool 
room, which only a very bold imagination could call a 
salo7i^ and began to study my appearance. There was 
no glass in which one could see one’s entire length at 
home. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


25 


The countess was right. I was not as pretty as my 
mother. Very far from it, alas ! The silky chestnut 
hair which framed my mother’s slender face in luxu- 
riant masses was replaced in my case by short, crisp, 
dark locks. My complexion was a trifle sallow ; my 
face not slender, but round. Straight, dark brows 
stretched above a pair of eyes which were somewhat 
too wide apart — so the countess thought — and almost 
as large as my mother’s. A rather short nose and pass- 
able teeth completed the face. For the rest, I was thin 
as a rail, and small — very small ; while my mother had 
the figure of a Juno. 

I shrugged my shoulders and turned toward the door 
of the adjoining room, which was concealed by a flow- 
ered chintz portiere. The sound of the countess’s voice 
had suddenly reached my ears. 

“ Well, my dear Lene, if I can get the room for 
eighty thalers, I will close the bargain.” 

“ I should be very grateful to you, dear countess,” I 
heard my mother answer. 

“ It ’s too bad, Lene, that again nothing should have 
come of the scholarship for Anneliese. There are too 
many poverty-stricken girls of noble birth already. 
Come, don’t be discouraged, Lene. Something is 
almost sure to turn up. People don’t die of hunger 
nowadays. If everything else fails, we can find some 
good house where a governess will be respected as a 
lady, or perhaps we can find a husband for her. Keep 
a tight rein on her, though, and don’t let her do as 
Lore Tollen is doing, letting that boor of a Becker 


26 


FOR another’s wrong. 


make sheep’s eyes at her. I ’ll open old Tollen’s eyes 
for him !” she added angrily. “ You know, Lene, I ’m 
not proud, and if the girl would take Doctor Schdnberg, 
let her, in heaven’s name, if she must be married. But 
that — that — ” 

“ Anneliese is still a child, countess,” interrupted my 
mother, “ and she has still a very great deal to learn 
before she can take care of herself. Poor child !” she 
added, with a sigh. 

“ The old story, Lene. Reproaching yourself because 
your brother was dearer to you than your own child. 
Don’t begin lamenting about that again. The few 
thalers wouldn’t have made her independent, anyway. 
You have embittered your own life by your constant 
repinings, and your husband’s, too. It ’s time you put 
a stop to it. It isn’t right.” 

“ Oh, countess, I don’t know what I wouldn’t do to 
get back the little capital that I stole from her for my 
brother ! Yes, 1 stole it ! Or isn’t it stealing,” she 
went on in a louder voice, drowning the elder lady's 
objections, “ when I forget my child in her cradle in 
my anxiety about my brother, and let my husband see 
my despair over Herbert’s future ? And when he sat 
sadly pondering whether he could help me or not, I — 
But you can’t understand that, countess,” she broke 
off, with that amusing superiority which married 
women unconsciously assume toward the unmarried. 
“ I will only say that he was unreasoningly fond of 
me ; that he could not refuse me anything I wanted ; 
and in this case what I wanted was to have him speak 


FOR another’s wrong. 


27 


the first word and to forget his child’s future. And I 
gained my end. ‘ Take the little capital, Helene,’ he 
said, as though it was hard for him to say it, ‘ and 
don’t cry any more, for I can’t bear it.’ And I, forget- 
ful of my duty, put my arms about his neck and 
accepted the sacrifice. When the money had gone — I 
carried it to the post-office myself — I came home with 
a light heart, and went to look for him to thank him. 
He was not in his room, and after searching for him, I 
found him sitting by the cradle. He had taken the 
child out, and was kissing and caressing it. ‘You poor 
little mite !’ he was saying in such a tone. And then, 
countess, I understood for the first time what I had 
done, and — ” 

“ Lene,” interrupted the countess, “ I know the story 
by heart. It has become an id^e fixe with you. Stop 
brooding over it. You both did wrong and you both 
did right. Good gracious ! is that little bit of mam- 
mon the only thing in the world that can bring happi- 
ness ? Besides, crying won’t alter your folly in the 
least. The child will have to go through life without 
the three thousand thalers. And now stop crying, 
Lene. What is it ?” she exclaimed, interrupting her- 
self and speaking to some one else. “ What ? Anne- 
liese is here, Lene, and that old goose of a servant only 
tells me so now. What ? You couldn’t find me ? 
Merciful heavens ! I ’m not the size of a pin, am I ? 
Where is she. ? H’m ! It would be a pretty kettle of 
fish if the chick should have heard your penitential 
harangue ! 


28 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Anneliese ! Anneliese !” I heard her voice calling 
behind me, for I had fled hastily into the garden, and 
was endeavoring to examine the great bunches of 
grapes with as unconcerned an air as possible. For 
nothing in the world would I have let my mother see 
that I now knew why she worried so, and all on ac- 
count of three thousand thalers. Why, mamma still 
had her pension. 

“ There ’s the monkey, Lene. Well, I ’ll go to 
Schulze and hire the apartment. He ’s sure to let it 
go at eighty.” 

I came up obediently and kissed the countess’s 
hand. 

“ You look pale, you Tartar child ! Lene, how did 
you come to steal the chick from the gypsies ? She has 
Spain written all over her, and your husband was such 
a typical German.” 

My mother drew me to her with a smile and tenderly 
stroked my face. 

“ It was very sweet of you to come for me,” she said 
gently. 

On the way home I told mamma about the letter. 
She did not look at me. She only nodded and quick- 
ened her steps. When we reached the house we met 
the postman, who was just descending the stairs, after 
ringing vainly at our bell. Mamma opened the letter 
and read it standing, without laying aside her hat or 
cloak. I, of course, watched her face with burning 
curiosity. 

Is it bad news, mamma ?” I asked anxiously, for her 


FOR another’s wrong. 


29 


face had suddenly become ashen and her eyes seemed 
sunken. 

She shook her head, let the letter fall, examined a 
couple of bank-notes — of what value I could not tell — 
read the letter again, and then walked rapidly to the 
door which led to her room. 

“ Mamma !” I cried in despair, for I was accustomed 
to have her tell me everything without reserve. 

She turned. 

** A letter from Uncle Herbert,” she answered. 

“ From Uncle Herbert ? Is it good news ?” 

“ Yes, good news, Anneliese. Things are going well 
with him. He is married, and — ” 

“ And he writes you that only now ?” 

But she did not answer. She had gone. Not until 
much later did I read the letter, which remained a 
secret to me at that time. I have it still. It ran as 
follows : 

** My Dear Sister : I am truly sorry to hear that you are in 
such straitened circumstances, and it is hard, very hard, for me 
not to be able to give you the assistance for which you ask. It is 
true that for, the moment I have found a position which brings in 
a tolerable income; but for how long? I must think of the fu- 
ture, for — I should have told you long before — I was married 
three years ago and have two children. My wife is the daughter 
of the oberinspektor of this place. She is very practical and keeps 
a close account of our expenditures. She intends that the boys 
shall some day have something of their own to start with, and she 
puts aside every penny for that end. I hope that I can often send 
you a trifle as I do to-day, and even a larger sum. I have not 
forgotten that I owe you a great deal. But what can I do? You 
have only one child, and you have your widow’s pension ; so you 
are guarded against actual want. 


30 


FOR another's wrong. 


Good-by, dear Helene. Give my love to your child. And 
be assured that, when I am in better circumstances, I will remem- 
ber you. At present I am not the master of my actions. Good- 
by. Your faithful brother, 

Herbert.” 

Underneath was the memorandum : 

Enclosed find two fifty-mark notes.” 

Thus wrote the man for whom my mother had sacri- 
ficed the savings which would have protected her and 
her child from want ! 

As I have said, I was not then aware of the contents 
of the letter ; still less of the actual distress to which 
my mother found herself reduced. I had never heard 
her complain. I knew, indeed, that we were poor, but 
shielded from the worst ; and believed that Uncle 
Herbert — from whom we had heard nothing for a long 
time — was in good circumstances. I had no suspicion 
that he had changed from an assessor to a farmer, not 
by any means out of love for farming, but to save him- 
self from his creditors. He had spent too much money 
in Berlin, and had moved to Hungary, where my 
mother’s letter must have reached him. 

Of all this I knew nothing. I only wondered why 
mamma was so agitated and remained so long in her 
room. We called it the salon. Mamma’s desk stood 
there, her sewing-table, an easy-chair, and a few bits 
of rococo furniture which had come down to mamma 
from her grandmother. The room had an air of com- 
fort, almost of elegance, with the broad-leaved plants 
which mamma dearly loved, and a few age-darkened 
family portraits, and we both vied with each other in 


FOR another’s wrong. 


31 


beautifying it with all kinds of trifles. Here mamma 
received her visitors. Here she held her whist parties. 
And here she shut herself up when she felt that she 
must cry. 

1 had to knock a long time before she opened the 
door and I could announce our old family friend, the 
doctor. She was ready to receive him at once, and I 
could only hear him say : 

“ Why, why, what ’s the matter now, Frau von Stern- 
berg ? You are crying !” 

Then she closed the door behind him, and I stood 
alone at the window of our sitting-room, and looked 
out into the falling October night, down into the de- 
serted court-yard. It was adorned with an imposing 
plot of greensward, enclosed by a wrought-iron railing. 
In the center rose a finely carved sandstone fountain, 
and the lion spouting water still held between his paws 
the shield of the Serrenburgs, assuredly to the especial 
delight of Herr Wollmeyer, whose every other word 
was “ feudal.” 

Strange to say, Herr Wollmeyer was beloved by 
every one in the little town. I, at least, thought it 
strange, for I could not endure him. Why, I could not 
have told, nor could I have brought anything tangible 
against him. And so I was careful not to express my 
opinion, for on this point I should have had even the 
countess against me. The councilor placed a large 
sum every Christmas in the old lady's hands, without 
which her distributions to the poor must have been 
meager indeed. The councilor, moreover, did a great 


32 


FOR another’s wrong. 


deal of good. He had built a home for destitute old 
women, which he named the “Johanna Home,” in 
honor of his wife. He had presented a monument to 
the city, and an artistically wrought iron railing to 
enclose the Luther oak. A dozen benches on the 
promenades bore the proud words : “ Presented by 
Herr Councilor Wollmeyer for the comfort of his 
fellow-citizens.” His name headed all the subscription 
lists. He represented the conservative party in the 
Landtag. He was never missing in church on Sun- 
days, gave choice dinners, and invited his sportsmen 
acquaintances to shoot over his preserves, which he 
had rented at a high price from the peasants. He 
would present a brace of hare or partridges to each of 
the elect in turn ; showered his friends’ children with 
toothsome dainties at Christmas and with gayly col- 
ored eggs at Easter. In short, men, women and chil- 
dren of Westenberg found no reproach in him, but, on 
the contrary, much to praise. It was a pity that on 
Hannchen’s account he had remained shut out from 
the inner circle ; that he could never count on a place 
at the tables of the retired officers ; that the Landrath 
always forgot to keep a place for Herr Wollmeyer at 
his official dinners in honor of the president of the 
province, and that the buttonhole of his dress-coat 
had remained quite unadorned up to the present. I 
knew from his manner that he attributed these mis- 
fortunes to Hannchen, and that in this belief he had 
treated her abominably. Children have sharp eyes for 
injustice. This was probably why I could not endure 


FOR another’s wrong. 


33 


the councilor. I was indig^nant at the intentionally 
forbearing- and pitying way in which he spoke of his 
wife to others, and also of his cousin, who, by the way, 
never appeared in society. I knew who it was that 
ruled. I knew that many would have been the tactless 
blunders- he would have committed had it not been for 
this good soul. 

Just then I saw him coming across the court. Cousin 
Himmel walking beside him. They had probably been 
to the churchyajd to place flowers on Hannchen’s 
grave. 

Shortly after, there came a knock at the door — a 
loud, unabashed knock, which I had never heard be- 
fore. Who could it be ? It was not Cousin Himmel’s 
modest tap, tap. 

“ Come in !” I called hesitatingly. 

“Am I disturbing yovi^gnddige Frau?!’ asked a man’s 
voice. “ Ah, it ’s you, Fraulein Anneliese ! Could I 
speak to your Frau Mamma for just a moment ?” 

It was the councilor himself. Why should he come 
now ? He had never been here since his repeated 
friendly visits before papa’s death, when, strange to 
say, he never found the family in, even when he had 
seen them go upstairs a few moments before. 

“ Mamma ?” I asked in surprise. “ Mamma is with 
the doctor.” 

“ Then allow me to wait a while, Fraulein Anneliese, 
now that I am here.” 

“He might have said ^ gnddiges Fraulein,”’ I thought 
angrily. The good man could never please me. 


34 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“Your Frau Mamma has pained me very deeply,” 
he began in a plaintive tone, laying his new stovepipe 
hat carefully on the floor beside his chair. “ She writes 
me about moving. Why ? What for ? How so ? I 
should be beside myself to have your Frau Mamma 
change her apartment. Do you know, Fraulein Anne- 
liese, what is the reason for this sudden resolve ? I 
must say that the matter has affected me very pain- 
fully just at this time — ” 

My mother came in at this moment, lovely in her 
simple black gown, her cheeks slightly flushed, her 
eyes still shining with tears. She started when she 
saw the councilor, who dropped his eyeglass with its 
black silk ribbon as quickly as he had raised it at her 
entrance. 

“But, meine gnddige^* he began reproachfully, awk- 
wardly seizing mamma’s hand and raising it to his lips 
— “ my dear lady, it was very wrong of you to think of 
leaving my house. I have come to beg you to tell me 
what you do not like about it. Please, please tell me. 
I am ready to do anything.” 

“ The apartment is too large for me,” my mother 
answered quietly. 

“ You would be doing me a favor if you would give 
up one of your rooms to me,” he answered. “ I leave 
it to you, gnadige Frau, to decide which.” 

“ I am sorry, but I have already rented other rooms. 
At least, so I believe — ” 

“ Already ? Where, if I may ask ?” interrupted the 
doctor, who had appeared in the doorway. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


35 


“ On the Zimmerstrasse, at Farmer Schulze’s,” I an- 
swered in her stead. “ The countess is to hire them 
for us.” 

“ The countess be — ” He suppressed a strong ex- 
pression. “ Do you mean to start a fish hatchery there ? 
The cellars are standing a foot and a half under water, 
and the moisture drops from the walls all the year 
round. Do you know the place ? It would be suicide.” 

My mother looked up in alarm. 

“ The countess thought — ” she stammered. 

“ The countess has no idea of hygienic conditions. 
You must know that, my dear lady. The countess im- 
poses all sorts of remarkable remedies upon herself, 
and, unfortunately, upon others, too. She pins her 
faith upon the Bdddenstddter Schafer. There is noth- 
ing the Schafer cannot cure. All due reverence to her 
in other respects, but in this regard I have no confi- 
dence in her. You must not think of the place.” 

“ Bravo ! Bravo !” exclaimed the councilor, with a 
comfortable laugh. “ You see, tneine gnddige^ you can- 
not leave here. My cousin will talk over the terms 
with you if you wish to give up another room. And 
now not another word. Your devoted landlord begs 
to take his leave.” 

He omitted the kiss of the hand this time, swept his 
hat to us in a half circle, and backed out of the door 
like a flunkey, as though he were in a hurry to get out. 
I turned away, so that he might not see me laugh. I 
had a feeling half of amusement, half of contempt, for 
this medium-sized, corpulent man, with the rosy face. 


36 


FOR another’s wrong. 


which reminded one of a Borsdorp apple, and for his 
vain attempts at being elegant. 

“ But, my dear lady,” began the doctor, “ whatever 
made you think of moving ? You ought to be thank- 
ful that you can live in one of the few healthful and 
well-built houses in Westenberg.” ^ 

“ You know it ’s too expensive for me, doctor. And 
as the lease had expired, I wanted to forestall a notifi- 
cation from Herr Wollmeyer.” 

“ Why should he give you notice ?” 

Mamma was embarrassed. 

“ Oh, I felt sure he would. I took it for granted. 
And, in fact, he must have changed his mind only a 
very short time ago, for a few weeks since he told me 
that he wished to move into the upper floor later on.” 

“ Yes, but you see he doesn’t want to lose you, and I 
advise you to remain where you are. Is it agreed ? 
Well, mein Fraulein, do you still cough a good deal ?” 
he asked, turning to me and examining me with a doc- 
tor’s searching eye. 

“ Oh, it ’s not so bad as it was,” I answered. 

“ You mustn’t sit in the house too much. You need 
exercise in the open air.” 

“ Yes, doctor,” answered mamma, nervously, “ but 
how can she take it ?” And her face looked quite 
changed again. I saw- at once that the deep line of pain 
that always showed itself whenever my future was in 
question had appeared about her mouth. “ She is 
studying for examination. So much is required nowa- 
days, she often has to study late into the night.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


37 


** Only to ruin her health. She will have her head 
full of learned rubbish, and there will only be one thing 
to hinder her making use of it — her feeble body. But 
I have already dwelt sufficiently upon this point. You 
know my opinion, gnadige Frau. Good night.” 

He had spoken angrily and left us abruptly. I had 
never seen him so before. 

It was very quiet in the room after he had gone. My 
mother had sunk down into the deep window recess 
and was gazing out. I waited for a word from her, and 
I, too, looked out at the pale, glimmering gold of the 
horizon, against which the houses of the village on the 
farther side of the wide-spreading meadows stood out- 
lined in sharp relief. 

But no word came. At last I heard a low groan 

“ Mamma !” I was beside her in an instant. She 
only gave me her hand, and turned her face aside. 
“ Mamma, you would rather have gone away from 
here ? Let us go, then. We don’t have to account to 
any one for our doings. I will go down to Cousin Him- 
mel and tell her that we are going, after all.” 

No !” she answered firmly. 

“ We are to stay here ?” 

“Yes, it will have to be so,” she answered, with a 
short laugh : there was a hard ring in it. 

I still remember that evening so plainly and the feel- 
ing of depression that possessed me. I was weighed 
down by the premonition of coming disaster, and was 
dimly conscious of the beginning of untold misery. 

Mamma lighted a lamp at last, and wrote the countess 


38 


FOR ANOTHER'S WRONG. 


that we were to remain. She also sent me down to 
Cousin Himmel to tell her that if we might keep the 
same rooms at the same price, things would continue 
as before. 

I found the old maiden lady in the kitchen — such a 
spotless kitchen, bright with shining tin and copper — 
such a kitchen as one only sees when the mistress of 
the house is fond of cooking, and prides herself upon 
having the whitest tables and the brightest pots and 
pans. Cousin Himmel herself, in her black dress and 
immaculate white apron, looked as though she had just 
stepped out of a bandbox, and was so noiseless and 
quick in her movements that she might have had only 
eighteen years instead of four and-sixty upon her 
shoulders. Her thin face, with its deep lines of sorrow 
and firmly compressed mouth, wore its habitual, ex- 
pression of severity. 

I was particularly struck by her face to-day. She 
always looked as though she had borne many sorrows, 
and borne them in silence, as though she regarded life 
as a necessary task which must be gotten through with 
before going to sleep, decently and in order, so that 
one could rest in peace. To-day there was something 
more in her expression — a look of anxiety. 

She was just dishing the councilor’s supper — field- 
fares, each on a slice of toasted bread. As appetizing 
as Cousin Himmel herself, though not so thin, thank 
goodness ! I thought to myself in my wayward, girlish 
fashion. 

“ Good evening. Cousin Himmel,” I said. And when 


FOR another’s wrong. 


39 


she had given the dish, together with the vegetables, 
to the pretty waitress, I made known my errand. 

A quick flush passed over the wrinkled old face un- 
der the snow)’’ muslin cap. 

“All right, Fraulein Anneliese,” she said quietly. “ I 
will tell him.” Then she prepared to join the coun- 
cilor at his supper, took up the bowl of porridge which 
she was in the habit of eating every evening of her 
life, and steered toward the kitchen door. We went 
together as far as the great hall. Then she said again: 
“ All right. I will tell him,” and disappeared through 
the dining-room door, which the maid had opened for 
her. 

Following her with my e5^es, I could see the coun- 
cilor seated at table, devouring an unfortunate field- 
fare. At all events, his thoughts had not spoiled his 
appetite. 

I had scarcely reached our rooms when the maid- 
servant came hurrying after me. 

“ The Herr Councilor presents his compliments, and 
would send up the new lease to be signed.” 

My mother, who was still sitting by the table near 
the lamp, only answered, “ Give the Herr Councilor 
my thanks,” and then relapsed once more into her 
brooding. 

I brought out my books and writing materials, and 
set about translating a poem of Beranger’s into German 
verse. She closed the book with a sudden movement. 

“ Put that away, Anneliese.” 

“ But, mamma — ” 


40 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Put it away. You look so pale, you must. It can- 
not be helped.” 

“ But my work. I — ” * 

“ No, no !” she cried. “You shall not ! It is folly 
on my part,” she added, collecting herself. “As though 
it were absolutely necessary for you to pass the exami- 
nations ! You can do something else later, perhaps, 
Anneliese. But you must get well first. We will take 
a vacation, Anneliese — a long vacation.” 

I was still so young and knew so little of life that I 
actually felt a great sense of relief at her words. My 
whole nature rebelled at the thought of becoming a 
teacher. I was fond of study, but I hated the training 
necessary for the profession, and I had long debated 
the question whether there was nothing else for a girl 
to do. It was the only position that was at all befitting 
my rank, in the countess’s opinion. 

My sigh of relief was, no doubt, very loud and 
sincere, for a sweet smile flitted over my mother’s 
face and she stretched out her hand to me across the 
table. 

“You must get well, Anneliese. Perhaps I can 
help you to do that ; but God only knows whether 
you will be happy.” 

Ah, I was happy in the days that followed ! With 
the cessation of all mental exertion, there came over 
me a resistless languor, amounting, indeed, to almost 
complete prostration. I could sleep for hours in the 
daytime or sit idly by the window. Then my energies 
began to bestir themselves and drove me out of doors. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


41 


I gave mamma no peace until she went out with me 
for long walks into the snowy country, along the de- 
serted highroad, where an occasional peasant, drawing 
peat with his yoke of oxen or a flock of crows flutter- 
ing up with hoarse cries, were the only signs of life 
we encountered. We often went so far that we saw 
the castle tower of Uetze close before us, and, turning 
around, could scarcely recognize the evening lights of 
Westenberg ; so far, that my mother said she could 
go no farther, and that I overdid everything — first my 
studies and now my pleasures. But the doctor only 
smiled and quieted mamma’s complaints with the re- 
mark : 

“ It is high time she enjoyed herself. Let her alone ; 
repressed youth will assert itself.” 

Mamma suddenly found that she had a grown-up 
daughter. I enjoyed to the full the very primitive 
pleasures of Westenberg — the tea or coffee parties, 
and the moonlight balls, which were much less ro- 
mantic than their title, given them merely because the 
country gentry, having no desire to risk their horses’ 
legs or their own necks on an inky night, only came in 
when there was a moon. 

To my unspeakable disappointment, the doctor had 
forbidden me to dance. There was, by the way, a 
great dearth of dancing men in Westenberg, except 
during the Christmas holidays, when a number of 
brothers and cousins generally came home on leave. 
The town councilor, not having a son, was wont to 
bring to these festivities a young man whom he al- 


42 


FOR another’s wrong. 


ways introduced as ‘^my nephew, Von Brankwitz.” 
This nephew, with the Berlin accent, who, it was 
whispered, had a great deal of money, though no one 
knew what his profession was, impressed us very lit- 
tle, but was welcome, nevertheless, as a dancing man. 
He was presented to mamma and to me, but of me he 
took little or no notice ; very likely because I did not 
dance, or because I took no notice of him. At any 
rate, he did not disturb me in my enjoyment ; and I 
did enjoy myself, if only over the ladies’ toilets, 
which Riekchen Wobser, the fashionable dressmaker, 
made with touching fidelity after precisely the same 
pattern, only changing the combination of colors, so 
that we looked like a motley assortment of flags, 
black and white, red and white, green and white, blue 
and white, et cecera. 

My mother was unquestionably the most beautiful 
woman there, in spite of the simplicity of the black 
silk gown that she always wore. I admired her be- 
yond measure, and I was not in the least offended 
when old Major von Tollen said, with soldiery blunt- 
ness : 

“Ah, my little lady, we do not eome up to the 
mother ; she will be more beautiful in ten years than 
we are to-day.” 

I had not the faintest idea of passing for beauty ; 
and how could I have been envious of my mother ! 
Besides, I was so happy over my freedom. I was the 
gayest of all in my circle of girl friends ; I lived from 
day to day like a colt turned loose, and found exist- 


t'OR A^OtHER*S WRONG. 


43 


fence delightful in spite of our poverty — for - one 
winter. 

But with spring the languor returned even stronger 
than before ; my limbs felt like lead. I could not go 
up stairs without getting out of breath ; and struggle 
as I might to suppress my cough, I could not 
master it. 

“ Anneliese, Anneliese !” mourned my mother, her 
trembling lips pale with dread. 

“ What are you imagining now, mamma ?’' I asked, 
laughing at her fears. “ I have always had a cough 
every spring ; it will go away when summer comes.” 

Cousin Himmel brought me preserves and fresh 
eggs and comforted me with all sorts of little atten- 
tions and encouraging words, and the town councilor 
seemed to think it necessary to inquire every other 
minute after my health, or to join mamma and me in 
the garden, when we went out in quest of the spring 
sunshine. I scarcely answered him, never entered 
into conversation, and treated him as papa had treated 
him. But mamma talked with him much more than 
usual. He often told about his estate in the Thurin- 
gian forest and the magnificeni coiintry in which 
it lay. 

“ I suppose you mean the mill ?” I asked, on one oc- 
casion. 

“Yes, the mill,” he retorted, “ and also the estate 
near by, with its charming castle. You should breathe 
that air, FrMein Anneliese !” 

“ The air here suits Anneliese very well, and the 


44 


FOR ANOTHER*S WRONG. 


garden is so beautiful,” mamma replied before I had 
time to answer. And she took up the book from which 
she had been reading aloud to me, in the hope that the 
councilor would take his leave. But he did not ; he 
would remain sitting there with us for hours at a time, 
and our friends, who called to inquire after mamma’s 
health and mine, always came upon the touching group 
under the lindens, mamma upon the settee, her daugh- 
ter, muffled up in wraps, stretched out in a comfort- 
able easy-chair, and opposite them, Herr Wollmeyer, 
in a gray house-jacket and large Panama hat with a 
black band. 

Our friends endured his presence as a necessary 
evil. After all, it was his garden.. They even talked 
with him, and accepted the early roses and monstrous 
bunches of lilacs that he pressed upon them. They 
called us fortvmate in having so charming a land- 
lord. 

Mamma alone seemed uneasy, and kept her eyes 
fixed upon their faces with an anxious, questioning 
look, as though she longed to cry out : “ What are you 
thinking of ? Surely you do not believe — ” 

A great deal did not become clear to me until later. 
At that time I was too languid to think, to follow out 
all these little incidents in their logical sequence. I 
only continued to be annoyed by the familiarity of the 
loquacious councilor, whose attentions were as pon- 
derous as cannon balls. I wondered that mamma bore 
them with such helpless resignation instead of reject- 
ing them, and stared at her in surprise. She would 


FOR another’s wrong. 


45 


avoid my eyes, and a delicate flush would rise to 
her pale face. Ah, if I had only suspected the reason ! 

She was so good to me — so good and thoughtful ! 
She gratifled all my desires, and we all know the thou- 
sand little whims an invalid has. Everything was done 
for me — everything ; and I did not ask mamma where 
she got the money for all these increased expenditures. 
Once, when I did say something of the sort, she an- 
swered : 

'“You know that Uncle Herbert sends us money. 
And, besides, think of how much we save since you 
have given up your expensive studies.” 

I had very little knowledge of flnancial matters. The 
thought of what we saved in my exceedingly modest 
tuition — for the piano lessons, which were the most 
expensive, cost but two marks ; mamma taught me 
English — the thought of this saving quieted me, so 
that I enjoyed with the greatest complacency all that 
mamma provided. 

The doctor visited us daily now, I did not understand 
why. 

“ Doctor, you act as though I were very ill,” I re- 
marked fretfully, one day. “ We are very glad to have 
you come, of course ; but mamma will begin to think 
that I am on the point of dissolution, and worry her- 
self to death.” 

“ Heaven forbid, Fraulein Anneliese. But I can stay 
away,” he replied, evidently offended. “ I have had to 
come to the house, anyway, and I thought I might as 
well look in at you.” 


46 


I'oft another’s WROHO 


“ Indeed ? Who is ill downstairs ?” 

“ Oh, the councilor himself. But it ’s nothing serious. 
A little attack of rheumatism and gout ; that 's all.” 

And with that he departed. 

It was a rainy June day on which this conversation 
took place, and we naturally had to remain indoors. I 
do not know whether it was the weather that made me 
so uneasy, or what it was that depressed me. I felt 
that all my nerves were unstrung, and I could scarcely 
keep back my tears. The countess was with my mother 
in the next room. Her loud voice reached my ears like 
the blast of a trumpet. 

“You will make yourself ill, Lene ; do be sensible !” 
she was saying. “ Why should you reproach yourself 
with having written to your brother again ? What is 
there in that that he can take amiss ? Illness is an 
expensive luxury ; he knows that as well as you do. 
It will all come right again.” 

I could not catch my mother’s reply. 

“What is that? You ask too much, Lene, heaven 
knows. Don’f lose courage. The dear Lord still 
lives. He has always helped you and He will not fail 
you now.” 

Then I heard mamma laugh. It was a scornful, 
cutting laugh, which pierced my heavy heart like a 
knife. 

“ I will try to believe it, countess,” she .said, in a 
louder voice. “ I will go and beseech Him. I will 
cry to him with clasped hands : ‘ Dear Lord, hear me ! 
I have a sick child, who is all that Thoii hast left me, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


47 


and this child must have a change of air to save her 
life. Give me the money, for I have none, and there 
is not a soul to help me. Hear me ; give me the money 
or perform a miracle !’ Perhaps it will do some good, 
countess.” 

During this outbreak of scorn and despair I felt an 
icy chill creep over me, and then a burning fever. 
Red lights seemed to dance before my e)^es. I at- 
tempted to rise and call out, but I could not control 
my voice or my heavy limbs. I did not hear the 
countess’s reproachful answer. I do not remember 
what I thought of in that dreadful hour which I passed 
alone and half unconscious. I only remember the 
horror of it. When my mother finally came to me she 
found me feverish and incoherent, and unable to make 
any reply to her questions. 

I know nothing of the days that followed. When 1 
recovered consciousness, mamma was sitting beside 
my bed, a sad smile upon her wasted face. She bent 
over me and kissed me. 

Lie still, Anneliese. You must not talk.” 

I looked about me wearily. I had first to recall to 
mind all that had taken place. 

“ Mamma, how long have I been ill ?” 

Suddenly the recollection of her distressed state 
came over me with a shock. Had she found help ? 

“ Three weeks, Anneliese ; but don’t ask any more 
questions. Only get well.” 

“ Mamma, who helped you ?” 

What do you mean ?” 


48 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Oh, mamma, who gave you money ?” 

‘‘ I don’t understand, child. Don’t worry ! Couldn’t 
Uncle Herbert have sent me money again ? We have 
nothing to be anxious about Anneliese absolutely 
nothing.” 

1 could not think clearly enough to perceive the 
inaccuracy of these words. 

“ Go to sleep now ! As soon as you are well enough, 
we are to travel, Anneliese.” 

“ Where are we going ?” 

“ Anywhere, where you will get well. Go to sleep, 
child !” 

And I did sleep, sometimes I slept all day long. I 
slept myself back to strength and I ate myself back to 
strength. My recovery was very rapid under my 
mother’s faithful care. She was so transparently pale, 
she moved about so wearily, and the strange, sad smile 
never left her face. 

“ Mamma, is anything troubling you ?” 

“No, darling. You are getting well — there is noth- 
ing more to wish for.” 

“You have worn yourself out, taking care of me,” 
I said sadly. 

“ No, darling. Cousin Himmel has taken almost 
entire care of you. You must thank her very much, 
and Herr Wollmeyer, too ; they have both done a 
great deal for you. You have drunk his most expen- 
sive wines, Anneliese ; and just look at these beauti- 
ful flowers !” 

“ I will thank him, mamma ; but he is not to send 


FOR another’s wrong. 


49 


me any more flowers. I don’t like to smell them. But 
Cousin Himmel is to come to see me.” And so my 
mind was set at rest. I took no notice of my mother’s 
doings and went blindly on, to suddenly come face to 
face with a terrible discovery, 





CHAPTEll IIL 

It was a warm Jul/ evening, shortly before the day 
appointed for our departure for St. Moritz, whither I 
had been ordered by the doctor. The dressmaker had 
tormented me all day long. Mamma had been intent 
upon having a simple but tasteful travelling outfit 
made for herself and for me. All our preparations 
had been made, and what was still lacking in the way 
of those little things that make travelling so much 
more comfortable, were to be gotten at Frankfort-on- 
the-Main. To all appearance. Uncle Herbert had sent 
mamma a great deal of money ; he was supposed, so 
mamma told me, to have married a very rich wife. 

The air was so heavy and stifling in-doors that, in 
spite of the doctor’s prohibiti n, I could not resist the 
temptation of going down into the garden this last 
evening. Mamma was not at home. She had passed 
[50] 


For another*s wrono. SI 

through the room with her hat and cloak a short time 
before, and had spoken of going to see Fraulein 
Melitta von Tollen to say good-by. I went in search 
of a wrap and stole down the stairs. 

The lamp was burning in the vestibule. Cousin 
Himmel was sitting there with the cook, and cut- 
ting up beans for pickling. I walked past them 
with a hasty “ Good evening,” and went out of the 
door. The clock of St. Mary’s, opposite, struck nine. 
The pale moonlight that struggled through the black 
clouds lay over the quiet courtyard. The garden gate 
stood wide open, and a light was burning in the 
gardener’s cottage. The gardener’s little children 
were sitting on the doorstep and called out their 
“ Guten Abends gnd' Fraulein after me. 

I breathed again when I reached the great, park- 
like garden. From the pond that formed the bound- 
ary on the meadow side came a moist, perfume-laden 
breeze. Beyond the village, in the distance, the sheet 
lightning played incessantly. I walked slowly toward 
the part of the grounds that bordered the water. 
Further on stood a little- summer-house, in which I 
longed to sit and dream. It was a summer night such 
as one reads of in a fairy tale, so full of tender beauty ; 
and I was eighteen. Returning health and bright 
hopes made my heart beat high. 

The shadows of the trees under which the summer- 
house stood were very deep ; all the brighter seemed 
the shimmering surface of the water, in which the 
flashes of lightning were reflected. I had come up 


52 


FOR another’s wrong. 


almost noiselessly, then my foot faltered ; from the 
summer-house, which I should have entered in another 
moment, came the sound of Herr Wollmeyer’s voice. 

“ Don’t be in such a hurry,” he was saying. “ Stay 
here a little longer. I shall not be able to see you for 
weeks.” 

I had already half turned away, when I paused as 
though rooted to the spot ; a cry of horror almost es- 
caped me, but it died in my throat, in a convulsive 
sob. My mother ! My mother had answered ! I 
still remember each of those words, that made me 
more unhappy than I have ever been in all my life ; 
for in a single instant they destroyed the trust, the 
love, the adoration of a child for its mother. 

Yes, for some weeks, but I am coming back again, 
and then — ” I heard my mother say. 

“ Then ?” he asked, in a choked voice. 

“ Then I will fulfill my promise and become your 
wife.” 

“ Helene !” I heard him cry, passionately. “ Helene !” 

But I fled over the grass plot, and flung myself at 
last at the foot of a great linden. I clasped my arms 
around the ancient trunk ; I beat my head against the 
bark and writhed as in bodily agony. “ Oh, papa ! 
Papa !” I moaned. “ If I were only with you ! If I 
had only died with you, papa !” 

I started up just in time to conceal myself, as they 
passed close by me up the gravel path ; the slender, 
queenly figure of my mother, and beside her the vul- 
gar, detestable man, who had laid his desecrating arm 


FOR another’s wrong.’ 


53 


about her waist. They paused, and he picked a rose 
that gleamed white in the darkness and gave it to her 
with a lover-like expression that sent the blood ting- 
ling to my cheeks ; and she took it — my mother took 
it ! She did not throw it in his face ; she did not re- 
pulse him ; she did not think of the man to whom she 
had once belonged ; she did not think of her child ! 

“ Oh, papa, papa !” 

With an intensity of purpose that almost surpassed 
my physical strength, I followed them. They separated 
at the garden gate. He turned back into the garden ; 
mamma went into the house ; I entered the sitting- 
room almost immediately behind her. 

“ Are you still up ?” she asked, and came toward me 
in the darkness. “ Don’t you want to go to bed, dar- 
ling ?” And she put out her hand to stroke my cheek 
caressingly. 

And then — I was seized with a sudden fit of madness. 
I dashed her hand away. 

“ Leave me alone !” I shrieked. “ Don’t touch me !” 

Anneliese ?” she said, in a low, frightened tone. 

“ Let me go away from here ! I will not stay with 
you !” And unable to control my emotion, I seized 
the white rose she held in her hand, dashed it on the 
floor and crushed it under foot. 

“ Ah !” she said softly, as though the truth was be- 
ginning to dawn upon her, and she turned quickly away. 
At the door she paused, but did not speak, as though 
shame in the presence of her own child had sealed her 
lips. Then the door closed, and I was alone. I 


54 


* •f'Oft another's WROKd. 


crouched on the window*seat and dropped my head 
upon my hands. All my thoughts resolved themselves 
into this one : You have no mother any longer. I 
wanted to get away from her. She did not need me ; 
she had a lover. Soon she would have a husband — a 
wealthy husband. I could go my way alone. I felt 
the strength of a giant at this moment. Anything 
rather than to stay here ; anything rather than tt) be 
forced to see her, the dearest thing on earth to me, 
whom I had looked up to as to a saint, descend to so 
low a level. If I could only have wept ! But I could 
not. My head — my poor tired head ! Dear Lord, keep 
me from going mad ! 

Thus I sat for hours. Then a gleam of light fell 
upon my eyes. 

“Couldn't you find it in your heart to come to me, 
Anneliese ?“ asked mamma. 

I did not stir. 

“ You will make yourself ill again,” she continued, 
and placed the lamp upon the table. Then she came 
over to me and knelt down beside me. “ Anneliese, 
promise me not to think about it now. When we come 
back from our trip we will talk over everything — not 
as mother and child, but as two friends. Come, be 
good ; let me enjoy these few days while I am — still 
free.” 

She had spoken the last words in a stifled voice. 

“ Oh, I cannot let you do such a thing ! I will not 
travel; I — I will write to Uncle Herbert. He must 
come, he must—” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


55 


A sharp, shrill burst of laughter interrupted me. 

“ Uncle Herbert !” she exclaimed. 

“ He has surely been a very kind brother to you ; he 
sends you money so often, as you have yourself told 
me.” 

“ Uncle Herbert ! Yes, yes, of course !” 

“ Oh, I wish I were dead ! I wish I were with my 
dear father.” 

Her beautiful, slender face was almost distorted at 
this moment, but she only stared at the floor and 
answered nothing. 

“ You shall not do it !” I cried, springing up. “ You 
cannot do it ; you cannot forget papa. You cannot 
wish to insult his memory by marrying this — this — ” 

“ Silence !” she commanded, standing up. “ I can- 
not do otherwise. Ask no more questions. Do not 
forget that you are the child, and that it does not befit 
you to criticise your mother’s actions. Remember 
that I must take this step, that I have given it due 
thought, and that it has not been easy for me, God 
knows. Think it over and try to reconcile yourself to 
it — it is irrevocable !” 

She took up the lamp again and held out her hand. 

“ Come, let us go to bed, and if you cannot under- 
stand me now, y-©u will later, my — ” 

The loving words died upon her lips ; I had turned 
away abruptly, without taking her hand. She stood a 
moment longer, and then went awa}". 

* * * * 

It was a terrible night that I spent upon the sofa 


56 


FOR another’s wrong. 


under papa’s picture. In the early morning, without 
having seen mamma, I went to the countess’s. She 
was the only one who could help me, for she, too, had 
loved papa. I did not think of the indiscretion I 
might be committing ; I was conscious only of a fierce 
shame for my mother, ^nd this made the confession 
hard for me, but I told myself that I must save her. 

It was a sultry morning, such as succeeds a dewless 
night. The streets, still filled with the heat of yester- 
day, were already astir with farmers’ carts and coun- 
try women who had come in to market. In front of 
the high, gabled town-hall the way was blocked with 
loaded hayracks, which were waiting their turn to be 
driven upon the public scales, and along the sidewalks 
stood the butter-women, their wicker baskets with 
their appetizing wares before them, chattering eagerly 
and occasionally serving a customer, even at this 
early hour. All this rendered my hurried progress 
difficult. I must have looked like an insane person as 
I pushed my way through the throng, hatlOvSS, and 
with only a shawl thrown over my shoulders, my hair 
tumbled and disordered, my eyes hot and swollen. 

The countess’s shutters were closed. I did not stop 
to reflect whether she was asleep or not, and jerked at 
the bell as though the house were on iire. 

The next instant the inside chain was unfastened, 
and the countess called out : 

“ I ’ve got you at last, you rascal ! Good gracious !” 
she exclaimed on catching sight of me. 

And in a moment she had dragged me through the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


57 


doorway and stood before me in the most extreme un- 
dress — a pink-flowered night- jacket, a gray woolen 
petticoat and monstrous felt slippers — her hair done up 
in curl-papers, which dangled fantastically from under 
the fluted night-cap. In her hand she held the copper 
brazier over which she kept her coffee warm, and 
stared blankly in my face. 

“ Good heavens, Anneliese, is your mother ill ?” 

I could not speak at once. My throat seemed choked. 

“ You look like a death’s head, Anneliese ! Come 
upstairs !” 

And she dragged me up the staircase and pushed me 
before her into her room, where the Venetian blinds 
were lowered at the open windows. Here she set 
down the brazier and seized me by both shoulders. 

What has happened, child ?” 

“ Oh, auntie !” I stammered, and my teeth chattered. 
‘‘ Auntie — please — auntie — help me ! Mamma — ” 

“ Of course, she ’s gone and gotten ill ! I told her 
she would if she persisted in tiring herself out in tak- 
ing care of you. Well, you needn’t look such a picture 
of despair. Your mother isn’t going to die just yet. 
Wait a moment. I ’ll get dressed and go with you. 
Have you had the doctor yet ?” 

“ She isn't ill — she is — she has—” 

“ Herrgott f Tell me what it is !” she cried, angrily. 
“ What is the matter with her ?” 

“ She — oh, auntie, it 's so terrible — she — Wollmeyer 
— he wants to ma,rry mamma !” 

“ Wollmeyer wan — wants — to marry — your mother ?” 


58 


FOR another's wrong. 


I raised my tear-filled eyes and looked into a face 
that seemed petrified with astonishment. 

“ Yes. Oh, auntie, help me ! Don’t let her ! Tell 
her she mustn’t !” and the tears began to stream down 
my cheeks. 

But the old lady had sunk into a chair ; I knelt be- 
side her, and my body was shaken with sobs like a 
young tree lashed by the storm. The countess laid 
one big hand upon my head, and did not speak ; she 
was waiting to let me have my cry out first. 

“ H’m !” she said at last, clearing her throat. 

“ What, auntie ?” 

“ H’m !” she repeated. 

“ Dear, dear auntie, don’t let her !” I pleaded anew. 

“Josephine,” called the countess, “bring the coffee. 
You must have something to eat, child, and then we ’ll 
talk it over.” 

When the table was daintily set with the simple 
coffee service, she buttered me a roll and drank her 
huge cup of coffee in small gulps, staring fixedly at one 
point meanwhile, and evidently completely absorbed 
in her thoughts. It seemed an eternity to me. Then 
she reached for the prayer-book, opened it at the 
mark, addressed an energetic “ Hush !” to the canary, 
who was preparing to begin the day with a deafening 
trill, and read aloud, with folded hands : 

“And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy 
God led thee, to humble thee and to prove thee, to know what 
was in thine heart, whether thou wouldst keep His command- 
ments or no.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


59 


She closed the book. 

“You’ve probably imagined it all, you silly child,” 
she said “ I am sure that Lene — But I ’ll go with 
you and — ” 

The door was flung open and my mother entered. 
When she saw me, she clutched the arm of the sofa 
where the countess w’as seated, her figure swayed, and 
a strange cry burst from her throat. 

“ Anneliese, Anneliese !” she murmured. “ Thank 
God !” 

“ Good morning, Lene,” cried the countess ; but her 
face was as cold and proud as though some unwel- 
come suppliant were before her instead of her idolized 
darling, who had sunk exhausted into a chair and 
dropped her beautiful head in deep consciousness of 
guilt. 

“ You have something to tell me, Lene ? Go into 
the kitchen to Josephine, Anneliese, and think over 
what I ’ve just been reading.” ^ 

My mother did not raise her eyes as I passed her ; 
buc the old gentlewoman’s voice followed me like a 
trumpet blast sounding the attack : 

“ Have you taken complete leave of your senses, 
Lene ? I can forgive a woman for being foolish 
enough to marry once ; but to marry a second time — ” 

Thank God ! The countess would know how to pre- 
vent this awful thing. 

Shivering and exhausted, I sat beside Josephine’s 
stool and stared vacantly at the collection of crockery 
and glassware ranged upon the shelves, neatly covered 


60 


FOR another’s wrong. 


with white lace paper ; and counted over and over 
again the old pewter plates with the countess’s arms — 
twenty-five pieces and two big platters. Would the 
interview never come to an end ? 

At last I heard steps descend the stairs, hurry across 
the hall and leave the house. Mamma had gone, then ; 
she was angry with the countess. She abided by her 
resolve^ — she — good God ! 

“ The gnddiges Fraulein is to go to the countess/’ 
said Josephine. 

I dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The 
old lady was alone in her room ; she was standing by 
her flower-stand and plucking off a few withered 
leaves. 

“ Well, dear child,” she said, gently, without turning 
toward me. 

“ Where is mamma ?” 

“ She has gone home.” 

“ Auntie !” 

Still she did not turn. 

“ Anneliese, you must be sensible. You must not 
make this step any harder for your mother. It is hard 
enough as it is, and she has only decided to take it 
after much reflection.” 

“ Oh, auntie, you — you too ?” 

“ I can see that she is right from her standpoint ; 
you cannot understand it. It is very hard for a woman 
to be unprotected in the world — for a woman in your 
mother’s position. She — But, as I said before, you 
wouldn’t understand.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


61 


So this was the result of the interview ! The countess 
sided entirely with mamma ! I stood as one paralyzed. 

“ Well, Anneliese ?” 

She turned at last. Then I saw that the lids of the 
little gray eyes were red. The countess — the always 
immovable, the always composed — had been crying. 

“Your mother,” she went on, “ will announce the 
engagement as soon as possible. She will consult with 
Herr Wollmeyer, and as she cannot very well remain 
in the house of her future husband, she is to be my 
guest until her marriage. You, too, of course, unless 
yon would prefer to go away for a little while. I have 
relatives in Hamburg who would be very glad to take 
you until — after the wedding. In case you — ” 

“ Please, auntie, I shall be very grateful to these 
strangers if they will.” 

“Afterward, of course, you will return to your 
parents’ home — ” 

“ I have no parents now — only a mother, auntie. I 
did have a father. You knew him, and can under- 
stand that he can never be replaced by such a man, if, 
indeed, there can be any question of replacing a fa- 
ther. I shall not return to my mother’s house, but 
shall try to make my own way through life — ” 

“ Well, well, we ’ll see about that,” she answered, but 
her voice did not have its usual energetic ring. “ So, 
for the present, you will go to Hamburg ? As matters 
are, I shall make no attempt to keep you here, for it 
would do your mother no good to have your defiant 
face always before her eyes. Now, however, you 


62 


FOR another’s wrong. 


must follow her. You both have your belongings to 
pack up and many things to arrange ; besides,” and she 
turned full upon me — “ besides, I would like to have 
you remember that you must show some consider- 
ation for your mother. There are times in life when 
we long to cry out with pain and heartache, Anne- 
liese, and yet we must force our lips into a smile, 
when for nothing on earth would we let others see 
our quivering hearts, not even our nearest and dear- 
est ; so shut your teeth, Anneliese, and smile when 
people congratulate you on your stepfather. For your 
mother’s sake, smile, no matter how hard it may be.” 

She had drawn me to her and caressed me, and 
then gave me a playful tap on the cheek, cleared her 
throat as though she had laboriously swallowed some- 
thing very unpleasant, and said, relapsing into her 
usual tone of good-natured bluster : 

“ And, after all, child, it isn’t such a desperate mat- 
ter ! The English princesses, too, married beneath 
them and yet they remained princesses ; so be brave, 
my Anneliese ; be brave !” 

“ You think I am unhappy because his name is Woll- 
meyer ?” I asked, with a shrug. “ That is the very last 
thing I should have thought of. This Herr Councilor 
might bear your title, might have a right to a coronet, 
as you have, and I should hate him just as much as I do 
with his plebeian name. But don’t be afraid, auntie ! 
I won’t compromise mamma, you may depend upon it. 
I will shut my teeth and bear it. Good-by, and thank 
you, auntie.” 



CHAPTER IV. , 

A few hours later I had realized that I could not 
leave my mother. The moment that I stepped into the 
court-yard I saw, from the unusual stir, that mamma 
had consented to the announcement of the engage- 
ment, that the great event was known to the house- 
hold, and also that Herr Wollmeyer intended to publish 
the news to the world in the most ostentatious and, 
certainly to my poor mother, the most repugnant 
manner. 

The front door was wide open, and the gardener was 
just hurrying in with an armful of green boughs. In 
the hall the maids were darting in and out like swal- 
lows before a thunder-storm. One was going in the 
direction of the cellar with a huge bunch of keys and a 
wine basket. Another was standing upon a ladder be- 
fore the cupboard and handing down china. The 
coachman came out of the dining-room, and his master 
called after him : 

“ At eight o’clock, Friedrich, a very simple little 
supper. See that you carry out your instructions 
properly.” 


[63] 


64 


FOR ANOTHER'S WRONG. 


Friedrich nodded, smiling slyly at the maid, and went 
out. 

This was just like the Herr Councilor. He was in- 
viting people to his house to surprise them with the 
announcement of his engagement. It was simply 
brutal, I thought indignantly to myself. 

Cousin Himmel met me on the stairs, carrying a load 
of table linen. ' I saw for the first time in my life a 
change in her usually impassive face. It quivered with 
a deep and painfully suppressed emotion, and a sudden 
flush passed over it when she saw me. 

“ Anneliese !” she murmured. We looked into each 
other’s eyes in silence, and we understood each other. 
“ Who would have thought it ?” she said in a low 
voice, and went hurriedly on her way, for the domi- 
neering tones of my future stepfather resounded 
through the house : 

“ The other brand of sherry ! The genuine article ! 
Kreutzdonnerwetter ! Do you think I am going to 
drink toasts in ordinary German wine to-day ?” 

The berated maid fled back to the cellar, and I pro- 
ceeded upstairs. I remained quite a long time in the 
ante-room, not knowing how I should act toward my 
mother. At last I made up my mind to ignore the 
whole matter and to play the indifferent. I purposely 
entered the bedroom first, to lay aside my wraps and 
to arrange my disordered hair, but principally to put 
off the meeting as long as possible. There lay mamm.a 
upon her bed, her hands pressed to her temples, her 
lips blue, her eyes sunken. 



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FOR another’s wrono. 


65 


** Mamma ! Oh, mamma !” I cried. 

And the next instant L was on my knees beside her, 
and pressing my face to hers, I began to sob afresh. 
She raised her hand wearil/ and stroked my wet 
cheek. 

“ My child ! My only comfort !" 

“ Oh, mamma, mamma, what have yon done ?” I 
cried. “ We were so happy together !” 

She made a protesting motion of her hand. 

“ Bring me my medicine, and then — Anneliese, I 
cannot see him this morning if he comes. I — my 
head ! But this evening we will be downstairs punctu- 
ally, will we not, Anneliese ?” 

There came a knock at the door of the sa/o7i just 
then. She motioned impatiently to me to go, and I 
went to receive him. 

His beaming smile vanished at the sight of me, and 
gave way to an expression of dignified benevolence. 

“ My dear child, my dear Anneliese,” he began, hold- 
ing out his hands to me, “ you cannot have helped 
knowing how dear you have always been to me and to 
my dear, departed wife. You may be assured that I 
am happy to be able to take the place of a father to 
you henceforth, and that your own father could not 
have had a truer — and more sincere — ” 

He stammered, grew red and very much confused, 
and put his empty hands behind him. What else he 
did I do not know, for I had turned my back upon 
him. 

“ Mamma is not well, and regrets that she cannot 


66 FOR another’s WRONC. 

receive you, Herr Councilor. She will be downstairs 
this evening, I believe.” Then I childishly crossed 
over to my father’s picture and stood before it and 
looked at it. I wished to indicate in this way that 
Herr Wollmeyer’s fatherly feelings and intentions 
were a matter of utter indifference to me — nay, more — 
displeasing. I heard him breathing quickly. He was 
obviously deeply offended. 

“ It is not kind of you to receive me like this, Anne- 
liese. You will be sorry for it some day.” 

I looked at him over my shoulder. 

“ Never, sir.” 

“You are a stubborn little thing!” he answered, 
with an unmistakable effort to look as though he were 
not taking me seriously. “ Well, I hope Hel — your 
mother will soon be better, and tell her she must look 
pretty to-night ; very pretty, Anneliese !” And he 
laughed his inane laugh. “ It will be a great surprise, 
Anneliese, a great surprise ! Auf ^viedcrsehen I" 

Oh, that evening ! Of course, the whole town knew 
vvhat had happened, and no previous engagements 
were allowed to interfere with the acceptance of the 
councilor’s invitations. Mamma had roused herself, 
and looked very lovely as she stood before the glass in 
her bedroom. She wore black, as always, but there 
was a crimson rose in her brown hair and a bunch of 
the same flowers at her belt. Yes, she looked very 
lovely, and yet distressingly ill and pale. She had 
been standing there for a quarter of an hour, staring 
at the glass, while I watched her from the sitting-room, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


67 


which was already deep in shadow, while about mam- 
ma’s figure glowed the red light of the setting sun. 
The shrill peal of the front-door bell kept constantly 
coming up to us ; the Herr Councilor’s guests were 
exceptionally punctual that night. 

At last we also had to go. The countess, who had 
assumed the place of dame d'honnetir^ came up to take 
us down. She led' me to the nearest window and ex- 
amined me from head to foot. 

Well, I’m thankful to see that you Ve made some 
sort of a toilet, chicken ! But you might have added 
a red ribbon or two to your white frock. And your 
face ?” She raised her finger warningly at me. 

Mamma took the countess’s arm, for she was sway- 
ing like one who has to learn to walk all over again 
after a long illness. Thus they went down the stairs, 
I following them, feeling as though I were going to 
my mother’s funeral. 

The reception was held in Hannchen’s best room. 
Our acquaintances were all there, and a spell of 
anxious expectation hung over the entire' assemblage. 
They did not seem as much at ease as usual ; perhaps 
they were disturbed by the nervousness of the coun- 
cilor, who kept bowing right and left like an officious 
landlord, pressing tea upon his guests and urging the 
men to add a drop of rum — “ real old Jamica, imported 
direct; a noble drink or was it due to the execrable 
portrait of the departed Frau Counciloress, who, decked 
in bridal gown and myrtle wreath, stared out of the 
frame with astonished eyes and vacant smile, as 


68 


FOR another’s wrong. 


though she were saying : “ What is the meaning of all 
this ?” 

The young people had gathered in an adjoining 
room. The youngest of the Tollens, still a school- 
girl, measured me with a haughty and pitying smile. 
Lore sat like a statue, staring at my mother. The 
doctor came up to me and patted me on the shoul- 
der. 

“ How goes it ? Are we sitting firmly in the saddle ? 
Have we our reins tight so that the brute won’t get 
away with us ? That wild little hea'd of yours will 
give you trouble yet, child. Come, don’t be offended, 
Anneliese ; we are old friends, you know.” 

“ I ’ll take care of my head,” I answered. 

Lieber Himmel ! When is the bomb going to ex- 
plode ?” asked an elderly young lady. “ Perhaps 
there ’s nothing in it, after all !” 

Her face was white, but she did not mean to give 
up hope until the very last. She would have been so 
glad to have taken the never-to-be-forgotten Hann- 
chen’s place, and her appearance at this moment was 
the very incarnation of woe. 

At last the bomb exploded. When the roast ap- 
peared, the master of the house, champagne glass in 
hand, announced to his honored guests that happiness 
had returned to his desolate house once mare in fairer 
guise than he had ever hoped to see ; a woman’s noble 
heart had responded to his in deep and true affection. 
“ And so, my friends, I beg you to raise your glasses 
and drink to the health of my dear betrothed — to the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


69 


health of Frau Helene von Sternberg, nde von Pletten- 
hausen.” 

For an instant all was so still that one could hear 
the flutter of the younger Tollen’s fan. Then the 
countess’s voice rang out and her chair was sent back 
with a violent push : 

“Your health, dear Helene, and thousand-fold hap- 
piness !” 

“ Hoch^ hoch^ hoch !'* chimed in all the others then. 

Oh, those congratulations, those kisses for my 
mother, who turned first red and then white ! The 
usual pilgrimage around the table began, and I 
thought it a favorable moment to make my escape, 
but the countess grabbed me by my dress and brought 
me back 

The councilor came toward me, his glass in his 
hand ; but he suddenly changed his mind. My de- 
spairing face could have boded him no good, and 
turned confusedly to Kathe Tollen, who had remained 
quietly in her seat during the whole performance. 

“ Won’t you touch glasses with me ?” he asked, 
amiably ; but, unfortunately, he made his bow before 
an empty chair, for the child was standing suddenly 
beside me and stroking my cheek. 

“ I am sorry for you, Anneliese — so sorry for you. 
I would run away if I were you.” 

But, alas, the courage to run away grew less and 
less. I saw mamma’s eyes seeking for me constantly, 
saw them fixed upon me with an expression of such 
despairing- entreat as though the sight of me 9,1 one 


70 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


gave her the strength to hold herself erect. I could 
not help turning my eyes continually in her direction, 
and I went up to her involuntarily and pressed her 
trembling arm to comfort her. 

Just then the happy bridegroom approached her. 
The champagne had gone to his head, and so had his 
pride in his good fortune. He nicknamed the countess, 
who had not left mamma’s side, “ little mother-in-law,” 
and called mamma “ darling,” and shouted it across 
the whole table. I clenched my hands in my dress. 
The countess gave him a look that would have frozen 
any one else. 

“ Remember yourself, sir,” she said. 

“Go upstairs, Anneliese. You are not strong 
enough yet to stand all this excitement,” my mother 
whispered to me ; and I obeyed her, I could not have 
looked at her any longer. The sight of her grieved 
me to my very soul. And upstairs, alone, it was even 
worse. I walked about, wringing my hands ; it 
seemed as though the walls were about to come crash- 
ing down upon me. I went downstairs again and into 
the kitchen, and asked for Cousin Himmel. She was 
in her room, the maid told me. 

The room was not far from the kitchen, and its 
single window overlooked the garden ; in an alcove, 
hungwith gayly flowered chintz, stood Cousin Himmel’s 
bed. A lamp burned on the table ; the old woman 
was sitting beside the stove, her hands in her lap and 
staring into space. 

“ that you, Fraulein Anneliese ?” she asked^ loQk- 


FOR another’s wrong 


71 


ing* up for an instant. “ I ’m resting a bit. I don’t 
know when I’ve been so tired as I am to-day.” 

“ May I stay with you awhile, Cousin Himmel ?” 

“ If you want to,” she answered, and relapsed once 
more into her brooding. 

Before I had even found a seat, the door was 
wrenched open, and a woman, whom I had occasionally 
seen in the house, burst into the room. She was said 
to be a distant relative of Herr Wollmeyer’s, a widow 
of thirty or so, whom the councilor, in his well-known 
generosity, had provided with a means of existence by 
furnishing a small shop for her on the principal street. 
Here she dealt in ribbons and buttons, yarn and such 
like, and supported herself and her child. “ Button 
Marthe,” as she was called in the town, was a pretty, 
red-cheeked but common-looking woman. She did 
not look like herself to-day ; the red in her cheeks 
was considerably heightened ; her black eyes glistened 
like a madwoman’s ; her shawl had slipped from her 
shoulders and a half-loosened braid hung down her 
back. 

“There are gay doings here !” she cried, and her 
trembling hands tore off the shawl. “ This is a pretty 
business, cousin, that you ’ve been dabbling your 
matchmaking hands in !” 

“ Lord, Marthe, are you crazy ?” cried the old 
woman, starting up and pointing to me. “ Look about 
you a bit before you begin your abuse. What do you 
want ?” 

“ Oh, I Ve come to offer my congratulations — to 


n 


FOR another’s wrong. 


offer my congratulations, of course !” retorted the 
frantic woman. What else should I have come for ? 
I suppose that is the Fraulein, the step-daughter ?” 
She turned to me. “ I congratulate you, too ; you are 
getting a fine father, a very fine father, and a clever 
one, too ; a very clever one. Yes, he knows how to — 
make love,” and she stepped nearer to me and held up 
one large, shaking hand and struck it with the other. 

Ask your mother, little Fraulein, how he managed to 
make her say ‘Yes,' and if she won’t tell you, you can 
find out from me. Her hands were empty as mine 
were, and hunger is painful, you see. May God keep 
you from ever seeing any one you love suffer from 
want ! And at such times he comes to you and puts 
money into the poor, empty hand and talks of duty to 
Christ and to man, and of help in the name of God. 
Oh, and it is so comforting at first, and then — he gives 
more, much more than one needs, and he will take 
nothing for it ; he only wants to help you. That is 
his reward, he says. Yes, whoever is fool enough to 
believe it. Cousin Himmel, I will speak, even if you 
tear the clothes from my back !” she shrieked, and 
thrust away the desperate old woman with such vio- 
lence that she staggered. “Yes, I will speak! Oh, 
the Herr Councilor knows how to collect his debts! 
I have paid to the last farthing. I have paid with my 
conscience! I have paid with my honor! Your 
mother will pay, too ; but^he does better by her ; he 
makes her his wife. Yes, yes — but it wasn’t necessary, 
with a poor woman like me. But I don’t envy her ; 


FOR another’s wrong. 


73 


tell her so. I don’t envy her, for I am free, and can 
show the villain the door when he dares to show his 
face ; but she — she will be chained to him ; she will 
have to put up with it as she who lies out there in the 
churchyard did, and as all have to do who come near 
him — as they did,”" she screamed, and pointed to the 
wall, where a few photographs were hanging, “ whom 
he ruined and murdered and drove away ! So tell 
your mother ; tell her while there is still time ; tell 
her to go as far as her feet can carry her before — ” 

Her voice failed her. She suddenly covered her 
face with her hands and broke into bitter weeping. 
The next moment she had snatched up her shawl and 
ran out of the room, still sobbing. 

Cousin Himmel sat on the edge of the bed like a 
statue and did not venture to look at me. I leaned 
against the wall, for everything seemed to be whirling 
before me. Silence reigned, for an eternity, as it 
seemed to me. 

“ She is a mad creature, that Marthe,” murmured 
the old woman, at last. “She," — she cleared her 
throat — “ I think she thought he ought to marry 
her—" 

If he only had, I reflected. Oh, my poor, poor 
mother ! 

Silence ensued once more. Cousin Himmel was 
sitting bowed in her chair, as though a mountain 
weight lay upon her poor old shoulders. There was an 
unnaturally rigid expression upon her face. I walked 
about the room in my agitation, scarcely knowing 


74 


FOR another’s wrong. 


what I did or what I saw. In front of the chest of 
drawers I paused and looked up at the pictures to 
which the woman had pointed. There were several 
faded and poorly taken photographs ; a young mar- 
ried couple, seated side by side, holding each other’s 
hands ; the picture of a little boy, and, below this, the 
portrait of a young man of sixteen, or thereabouts. 

I took down the picture quite mechanically and 
looked at it. 

“ Who is it ?” I asked, over my shoulder, but only 
to make Cousin Himmel speak, for she remained mo- 
tionless so long that I was filled with a vague dread. 

“ It is — it is Robert Nordmann,” was the unwilling 
answer. 

The name echoed in my heart with a familiar ring, 
and the keen, finely-cut face looked at me kindly and 
familiarly, as though I had known it always. Surely, 
there is at times a presentiment, a mysterious tie 
that binds people together long before they meet face 
to face or hear the sound of each other’s voices. 

“Who is he? Who is this Robert Nordmann?” I 
asked, eagerly. 

“ The son of Hannchen’s sister,” replied the old 
^woman, gulping down her tears, to judge from the 
sound. “ Where is he ? God only knows. He may 
have drifted anywhere since — ” 

She stopped. 

“ Since when. Cousin Himmel ?” 

“ Since he had to leave home.” 

“ And when was that ?” 


FOR another's wrong. 


% 

“ Ten years ago. But don’t ask anything more, child, 
to-night, of all nights. I might say more than I 
ought to.” 

Poor Robert Nordmann ! I held the little picture 
tenderly to my throbbing temples. Poor Robert Nord- 
mann — poor Anneliese von Sternberg ! We were com- 
panions in misfortune. I put the photograph back in 
its place and let my hands fall. 

‘•Anneliese, Fraulein Anneliese,” began the old 
woman abruptly, crossing the room noiselessly in her 
soft felt shoes, and scrutinizing my face with her tired 
blue eyes. “ Is it true, child, what — what Wollmeyer 
says — that you mean to go away — that you mean to 
leave your mother ?” 

I nodded. 

“ Don’t do it !” she whispered, apparently afraid of 
being overheard. “ Don’t do it. She will need you. 
She would never get over it if you went away, for, you 
see, she is doing it all only because she wants to keep 
you. Don’t you understand ? You are such a clever 
girl, Anneliese. Promise me you will not go away ! 
And don’t tell her anything about Marthe. I don’t 
know whether you understand me ?” 

Ah, I understood her ; I understood all. My mother 
had sold herself, and I knew that she had done it only 
because there was nothing else to do. And sold her- 
self to whom ? I fled to the bedroom that I shared 
with my mother ; there I lay, sleepless and trembling, 
and listened to the revelry below. Dawn was break- 
ing when the guests departed, and mamma tottered 


76 


FOR another’s wrong. 


into the room, worn and ghastly. She thought that I 
was asleep. She came up to my bed and looked down 
at me with clasped hands. 

I raised myself and stretched out my arms to her. 

“ Mamma ! My own mamma !” 

She threw herself down beside the bed and folded 
her arms about me, as though she would strangle me. 

“ I will stay with you ! I will stay with you !” I 
whispered in her ear. 

She did not answer. She only clasped me closer. 
And I could feel how she trembled and struggled for 
breath. 

For a long while we held each other in a close em- 
brace. I tried to comfort her, in spite of my forebod- 
ings, and vowed in silence that I would help her to 
bear whatever might come. 

When the first rays of sunlight peeped through the 
curtains my mother was sleeping peacefully, for the 
first time in many weeks. I thought of the little shop, 
and of the poor woman whom he had deceived, and I 
thought of Robert Nordmann, and I prayed God to save 
us from this man. God alone could do it, I thought. 
But no miracle was performed, and three weeks later 
mamma became Herr Wollmeyer’s wife. My dear, 
proud mother his wife ! 




CHAPTER V. 

My mother was married from the countess’s house. 
Immediately after the ceremony the newly married 
couple started on their wedding tour. I was to join 
them some weeks later, to go south with mamma. So 
I was not allowed to absent myself from the wedding 
banquet, and neither did mamma’s entreaties for a 
quiet wedding meet with any consideration. 

Those two or three weeks in the countess’s little 
house were made a source of torture to us by the 
bridegroom’s visits. He came at midday, he came at 
night ; one day he even went so far as to send a 
hamper of wines and dainties, and invited himself to 
the repast. My mother stood by in deep embarrass- 
ment, as auntie gave th e hamper back to the servant 
without further ceremony. 

“ The countess presents her compliments, and would 
be happy to have Herr Wollmeyer dine with her, but he 
must have the goodness to put up with her simple 
fare. The countess is not accustomed to being enter- 
tained in her own house.” 


[77] 


78 


FOR another’s wrong. 


The servant went off grinning, and the countess 
turned, grumbling, away. 

“That man is harder to train than a young hunting- 
dog,” I heard her mutter. “ It doesn’t matter, though, 
if his heart is only in the right place,” she went on, 
pinching my cheek. “ That ’s the principal thing ; 
isn’t it, chicken ?” 

Yes, but ivas his heart in the right place ? 

Every day he gave us glowing descriptions of the 
refurnishing of the castle. 

“ Everything in blue, Helene, because it is your 
favorite color,” he would say. He flung his money 
right and left that he might give his beautiful wife a 
magnificent home ; and yet mamma was indifferent to 
it all. 

The dreadful day came and went, with its ill-timed 
splendor and its manifold miseries. The countess, 
with great self sacrifice, played the part of the bride’s 
mother. I stood behind mamma at the altar of St. 
Mary’s, like one in a dream, and heard the words of 
the clergyman, who had taken as his text : “ For the 
mountains shall depart and the hills be removed ; but 
my kindness shall not depart from thee.” Mamma had 
selected it herself. I seemed to hear the toasts and the 
speeches at the banquet from a long way off, and 
when the old waiter, who was never missing at any 
Westenberg festivit)^ whispered hoarsely in my ear : 
“ Frau Wollmeyer wishes to see the gnddige Fraulein,” 
it was like a stab through my heart. Frau Woll- 
meyer ! The words had caused me almost physical 


FOR another’s wrong. 


79 


pain. I felt like crying : I know no Frau Wollmeyer ! 
I could not have said good-by to my mother. At the 
conclusion of the banquet I stole from the hall, al- 
though my neighbor, Herr von Brankwitz, implored 
me for the first waltz. 

It had been distasteful to me all along to have him 
for my escort at this wedding, but the countess had 
explained that it was only proper for the daughter of 
the bride and the nephew of the bridegroom to walk 
together behind the bridal couple ; and I said no more. 
He had come in irreproachable attire to escort me to 
the church, had brought me a beautiful bouquet of 
Marechal Niel roses, which harmonized so perfectly 
with my gown of pale-yellow silk that they might 
have been made of the same material ; and he could 
not have praised his gift more had he created the 
flowers himself. 

When I attempted to leave the hall, he came after 
me with his insipid smile and his brazen glances. I 
made no attempt to understand what he said, shut the 
door of the ladies’ dressing-room in his face, caught up 
a lace shawl that belonged to the countess, and ran 
across the courtyard of the hotel and into the garden 
connected with it. A door in the old city wall led di- 
rectly from here to the promenade, iipon which the 
churchyard faced. From the churchyard I could reach 
the countess’s garden by a private gate. 

The twilight of a September day had already fallen. 
No one but the gravedigger’s wife saw me as I walked 
rapidly along to papa’s grave. And there I paused, 


80 


FOR another’s wrong. 


with aching heart but tearless eyes. I looked down at 
the spot beside him, where mamma had once wished to 
lie. She "had so often spoken of it, and now — now she 
had forfeited this right ! The air was sweet with roses 
and mignonette. The bells of St. Mary’s were ringing 
for vespers. An autumnal spirit of weariness and de- 
pression was over nature. Ah, if I, too, could only 
sleep — sleep never to wake again — here beside 
papa ! 

Over yonder, Hannchen’s grave was bright with 
flowers. It was doubtless Cousin Himmel’s doing, as 
though by this she could reconcile the dead woman to 
what had taken place that day. No one had thought 
of papa, but it was better so. Let him sleep — sleep — 
that he might never know that his idolized wife — My 
God! he would have died a thousand deaths ! My poor 
mother — Frau Wollmeyer ! 

All at once I heard loud talking and steps from the 
direction of the entrance gate. A crowd of people was 
moving toward the dead-house. I jumped up from my 
kneeling position. A shiver ran through my body — a 
foreboding of some unknown horror. I gathered up 
my gown and walked as fast as I could to the count- 
ess’s garden-gate. There I found Josephine looking 
over at the dead-house with pale, inquiring face. 

O Gott^ gnddiges Fraulein,” she stammered, “ you 
frightened me so — standing there like a ghost !” 

‘‘ What is that over there, Josephine ?” I asked, nod- 
ding my head in the direction of the dead-house. 

‘‘ Oh, it is — it is something very sad, gnd' Fraulein. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


81 


Button Marthe has drowned herself in the castle pond. 
They have just taken her out.” 

I pushed past her, incapable of a word, in my hor- 
ror. The only one to whom I could have fled in my 
shuddering fear of these dark mysteries was now far 
away ; she belonged to him who had driven this poor 
creature to her death, who had made her child an 
orphan. I ran into the house and up to my bedroom, 
and buried my head in the pillows, as though I could 
thus escape from the incomprehensible cruelties of life. 
***** * 

The countess found me in a fit of dull despair, 
scolded me because I had run away, and kissed me be- 
cause I had looked so pretty. She was my mother 
now, she said ; she had promised mamma to be. She 
would be very, angry if I did not behave more sensi- 
bly and go to bed and to sleep like a rational being. 
Mamma had left a good-by for me and Herr — 

I started up from the pillows with clenched fists. 

“ Don’t speak of him !” I shrieked. 

“ Gracious heavens, Anneliese !” 

“ I hate him, oh, I hate him !” 

“ That is very pretty of you,” the countess said, 
dryly. “ Thanks to whom is it that you pulled 
through your severe illness, you little wildcat, you ? 
To him alone. Or do you think that your mamma 
was in a position to do a hundredth part of what was 
done for you ?” 

This was too much. I stood before her, unable to 
control myself. I had, indeed, suspected that mamma, 


82 


FOR another’s wrong. 


in her distress, had asked his assistance ; I had sus- 
pected that he had demanded the highest price for 
his assistance — herself. But until now it had never 
been put into words ; until now the reality of “ For 
your sake,” had never been brought home to me. 
There are those who are driven to madness by the 
realization of a terrible truth. 

“ Why should I be to blame for all this unhappi- 
ness, for all my mother’s misery ?” I cried, no longer 
master of my words. “ He is a murderer, auntie ; 
he is—” 

“ You are crazy, Anneliese !” 

“ He is a murderer, auntie !” I reiterated, wildly. 
“He has murdered Button Marthe !” 

“ Why, child ! Why, Anneliese !” she protested, but 
looked at me doubtfully, nevertheless. 

“ She has drowned herself, all on account of him,” I 
continued. 

“ Drowned herself, you say ?” 

“Yes ; all on account of him.” 

“Oh, papperlapap ! Button Marthe drown her- 
self !” 

I am not lying ! She is drowned ; she is dead.” 

“ What can your step — ” 

“ Auntie !” 

“What can Herr Wollmeyer have to do with it? 
Don’t be foolish ! Button Marthe has always been a 
queer creature. God knows why she — ” 

“ I know why ; I know,” I said, exhausted by my 
passion, “ Oh, mamma !” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


m 

Go to bed now, you silly child,” the countess re- 
plied, and began to help me to undress, scolding all 
the while, half angrily, half tenderly, to conceal her 
misgivings at my agitation. “You act like a baby! 
You might be five years old from the way you scowled 
at your mother’s husband. It wouldn’t have surprised 
me to see you stick your tongue out at him any mo- 
ment. You pay no attention to the best-man, but sit 
there as though you were deaf and dumb ; you don’t 
even say good-by to your mother, but run away from 
the dance, and make Brankwitz go hunting for you 
everywhere and asking everybody if they ’ve seen 
you.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. How could she talk about 
such trifles ? Did she not see that I was trembling 
with indignation ? 

“ That Brankwitz is a horrible creature !” I blurted 
out. 

“ Indeed 1” 

“ And I can’t bear him !” 

“ Why, you scarcely know him, Anneliese. The few 
times — ” 

“ He is his nephew — ” 

“ And that is sufficient ?” 

“ Yes, that is sufficient.” 

“ Well, it will be a heavenly existence for your poor 
mother with you two.” 

“ I will always be good to mamma.” 

“ I know-how it will be. She will be between two 
fires.” 


84 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ I will not stay with her ; I shall get well, and 
then — ” 

At this moment I was forced to give the lie to my 
words, for a short but violent fit of coughing overtook 
me. This made the countess frantic. 

“ Now 5 ’ou have done it, you stupid child !” she cried. 

It all comes from getting so excited. You shall go to 
bed this minute and keep quiet. And thank God that 
he has given you a home, you bad, naughty girl !” 

I saw how anxious she was about me, and let her do 
what she would. I lay perfectly still, my mind filled 
with this one thought : Perhaps I may not have to 
live much longer with that reproach, “ For your sake,” 
upon my soul. 

The next day, to my intense satisfaction, I was un- 
able to get up, and thus avoided seeing Herr von 
Brankwitz, who made a call upon the countess. I 
turned my head away when she brought me his com- 
pliments and told me that he intended to buy a place 
possibly ill the neighborhood. 

“ And he wishes you a speedy recovery.” 

1 made no answer. 

'' It is quite possible,” murmured the countess, 
“ that it ’s only because your — because Wollmeyer 
selected him as your partner at dinner.” 

I nodded. 

“ Very likely, auntie. And, auntie, please see that a 
wreath is ordered for Button Marthe.” 

“ I shall do no such thing.” 

Then I will get up and see to it myself,” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


85 


“ Well, for goodness’ sake, I will do it.” 

So I stayed in bed, and the doctor came and scolded 
and shook his head. 

“ It is purely mental,” I heard him tell the countess, 
“ and it would be a good thing if she could get away 
soon. She ought to have a change of air and sur- 
roundings.” 

“ Helene is going south with her as soon as she re- 
turns. Wollmeyer has solemnly promised her so,” the 
old lady explained. 




CHAPTER VI. 


October came in with a succession of wondrously 
bright and balmy days, and I was allowed to go out 
again. For a week I had carried two letters around in 
my pocket, without being able to make up my mind to 
open them ; letters from mamma. What did I want 
with letters ? I had thought that she would surely 
come herself, for I was convinced that they had writ- 
ten her of my illness. 

“ Auntie, have you let mamma know that I am ill ?” 
I asked the countess one day. At this the countess, 
who could not lie, grew as red as a schoolgirl. 

Why, what are you thinking of !” she answered. 
“ You were not ill enough for that. She would have 
been so anxious about you !" 

The countess was trying to evade my question. They 
had written to her and she did not come. I did not 
want her letters. But at last I read them, notwith- 
standing. Consuming anxiety for her child spoke in 
[ 86 ] 


FOR another’s wrong. 


87 


every line and between every line. I thought I could 
read : “ For your sake. For your sake I am willing to 
live !” The last letter contained an entreaty for a few 
words ; a really humble entreaty. I ran to the writing 
desk, dashed off the most ardent protestations of love, 
and told her that I could not live without her and she 
was to come to me. She answered that she could not 
come just yet. She had hesitated in writing it. I saw 
it plainly — for he proposed to stay some time longer 
in Brussels, and as I was better — after that they would 
turn toward home and she and I would go away to- 
gether. 

I did not ask her again, nor did she come for a long, 
long time. One day the countess received a letter an- 
nouncing the death of a favorite cousin and requir- 
ing her immediate departure. As she did not like the 
thought of leaving me alone, she solved the difficulty 
by sending me back to our old home. Cousin Himmel 
was still there — dear old Cousin Himmel. So I packed up 
my belongings, rejoicing at the thought of going back 
to our dear old rooms, and my guardian angel. Cousin 
Himmel, was waiting in the vestibule to receive me. 

“ God be praised that you have come back, Fraulein 
Anneliese !” she said, and trotted beside me through 
the hall and accompanied me upstairs, looking at me 
the while with a bitter-sweet expression that was al- 
together strange to me. In the ante-room I stopped 
short and looked about me. Had I lost my way ? I 
was surrounded by a really princely magnificence. 
What had become of the old room with its bare 


88 


FOR another’s wrong. 


walls, blackened by the dust of many years — its worn 
inlaid floor ? My feet rested on soft carpets ; priceless 
Gobelins covered the walls ; before the fireplace stood 
a number of oaken seats carved in antique design. 

“Your mamma will find a beautiful home waiting 
for her, Fraulein Anneliese. Money was no object to 
him where she was concerned. But come ; I want to 
take you to your room. You will look like a beetle 
in a rosebud, Fraulein Anneliese.” 

She walked ahead toward the part of the house that 
had hitherto been unoccupied, and opened a door near 
the great salon, 

“ There, Fraulein Anneliese, go in,” she said, draw- 
ing me with her across the threshold. 

Like a beetle in a rosebud ! What an apt compari- 
son ! A little brown thing like me in this dainty 
boudoir hung with rose-colored silk ! It was luxuri- 
ously furnished in rococo style, and the bedroom open- 
ing out of it was scarcely less fairly-like. I looked 
from this rose-colored vision to Cousin Himmel’s 
face. 

“ Am I to live here ?” 

“Yes, Anneliese.” 

“ But I haven’t the faintest idea of doing so.” 

“ Doesn’t it please you ?” 

“ Not at all. Cousin Himmel. I should die up here 
with longing for our dear old furniture. Where is it ? 
Where is papa’s picture ?” 

“ We have taken them downstairs, to the rooms next 
to mine.” 


FOR ANOtMEk’s WRONG. 


80 


Come away, Cousin Himmel. I don’t intend to be 
a beetle in a rosebud.” 

“ Oh, Anneliese, he will take it amiss. He planned 
it all so prettily for you.” 

“ I don’t care if he did ! If I have got to live in this 
house, I will live among my old belongings, and with 
you !” 

And I ran down the stairs to the cold, desolate rooms 
in which they had stored away our old furniture, as 
though it were so much rubbish. But how willing 
the old woman was to help me set things to rights ; 
how her eyes shone, although her features were as 
stern as ever ; and how cozily we two established our- 
selves there, far from all the splendor and magnifi- 
cence above ! What I liked best was to cuddle up in 
an easy-chair by the stove and dream of bygone days ; 
and when Cousin Himmel came with her spinning- 
wheel in the evening, she always succeeded in rousing 
me from my sad thoughts by a tew friendly words, or 
some story of her youth. 

Once during the course of her reminiscences she be- 
came more communicative than usual. She was 
speaking of Robert Nordmann ; she had not forgotten 
that I had asked about him with a certain amount of 
interest on that memorable night. 

“ He was a good boy, Anneliese, and Hannchen was 
as much attached to him as though he had been her 
own son. But he ! He could not endure the boy’s 
mother. Robert’s mother was Hannchen’s sister, Caro- 
line, and the two sisters had inherited the mill together. 


90 


FOR another’s wrong. 


But Caroline’s husband was a schoolmaster and did 
not want to give up his position, nor was he suited for 
a miller ; and Wollmeyer, who was firmly established 
in the mill as Hannchen’s husband, was to buy out 
Caroline’s interest. So the sisters had settled it. But 
instead of paying the money down, he gave his sister- 
in-law a mortgage on the mill. One day the Nord- 
manns wished to raise a little money. They had 
bought a house of their own. And then it came out 
that Wollmeyer had declared himself bankrupt a day 
or so before. Caroline took it so to heart that she had 
a stroke of apoplexy, and in three days she was dead. 
Her husband — ” 

“ Her husband. Cousin Himmel ?” 

“ Of course, it was wrong of him — yes, yes ! — but in 
his anger he openly accused Wollmeyer of fraud. 
Wollmeyer resented it and carried the matter into 
court, and Nordmann was sentenced for libel and — ” 

“ Why, Cousin Himmel !” 

“Yes, yes ! And then he had to go to prison ; and 
when he came out he had lost his place, and so he went 
away, he was so ashamed.” 

The old woman wiped away a tear with the back of 
her hand and moistened the flax with her fingers. I 
crept over to her and stroked her cheek. 

“ How sad !” I said softly. 

“If that were only the worst !” she went on hoarsely. 
“ But see, Anneliese, there came a morning when a 
proclamation lay on the table in the mill, and Hann- 
chen was staring at it with clasped hands, and her face 


FOR another’s wrong. 


91 


was as white as the paper. And then, as she did not 
move and gave no answer, I looked over her shoulder. 
I thought I would fall to the ground as I read : War- 
rant of Arrest.’ Nordmann was suspected of having 
embezzled the property that his son had inherited from 
his mother. His description followed, and then the 
official summons for aid in his capture. Ah, Gott^ 
Anneliese !” 

The old woman’s foot paused on the treadle, and she 
covered her face with her knotty hands, as in shame. 

“And was it so. Cousin Himmel Was it so?” I 
cried excitedly. 

She let her hands fall and went on spinning. 

“ God will bring the truth to light,” she murmured. 

“ Cousin Himmel, do you believe he did it ?” 

“ I ?” She laughed harshly. “ I believe it ? That 
Nordmann would steal those few miserable thousand 
marks from his child ? No father ever parted from 
his son with a heavier heart ; I know that. He would 
have taken the child with him, had he a place in all 
the world to lay his head. There cannot be a just 
God, Anneliese, if He does not bring this thing to 
light, and — He will bring it to light ; He will. I know 
it. I know more than many think.” • 

“ And Robert ?” I asked, breaking the long silence 
that followed. 

“ Robert ?” She started as though her thoughts had 
been wandering. ‘‘The Wollmeyers took him in, and 
they themselves had scarcely bread enough to eat at 
that time. Yes, yes,” Th^ old lips pressed them- 


92 


FOR another’s wrong. 


selves together, as though not another syllable should 
escape them. 

“ I suppose Frau Wollmeyer took pity on her 
nephew ?” I asked. 

“ Of course. But she dared not ask her husband to 
take the child in. He went himself, late one night, 
and brought the boy home and gave him food and 
clothes, and sent him to school, but — ” A scorn- 
ful smile played for an instant about the sunken 
mouth. 

But what. Cousin Himmel ?” 

“ Ah, human hearts are strange things sometimes — 
the boy did not take to him ; God knows why !” 

“ I can quite understand that,” I thought to myself, 
and my eyes sought the portrait that was almost in- 
visible in the twilight. 

“ Well, and then. Cousin Himmel ?” 

‘‘Well, the lad continued shy, suspicious, and ob- 
stinate. Wollmeyer tried sternness, blows, starvation, 
and then, after we had settled in Westenberg, he 
threatened to take him away from the gymnasium 
and apprenticed him to a shoemaker. Nothing had 
any effect. Yes, those were bad days, Anneliese.” 

“ He was lazy at school, I suppose ?” 

“ He ? He was the first in the senior class,” 
answered Cousin Himmel, indignantly. 

“ Then what was the reason for all this ?” 

“ I have already said that hearts are strange things. 
The older Robert grew, the more he despised his 
uncle, an;d gcurcely raised school-cap when they 


FOR another’s wrong. 


93 


met on the street. There was not a meal at which 
angry words did not pass. Wollmeyer abused him, 
and the lad had a way of drawing down the corners of 
his mouth that said more than words ; and then the 
storm would break. We women trembled, but we 
dared not interfere. Hannchen tried to at first, but 
she soon gave it up. The lad himself came to her and 
said : ‘ Auntie, do me a favor and keep quiet. I know 
you mean well, but you only make things worse ; the 
more you defend me, the worse it is.’ ‘ Oh, Robert, 
Robert, you might be a little more grateful,’ she had 
sobbed, in answer. And then the young imp retorted 
that he saw no cause for gratitude ; that he had a 
right to more than he received. And Hannchen sat 
looking at him as though he had said, ‘ To-morrow, at 
this time, the heavens will fall,’ or something of that 
sort ; but she said nothing to her husband for fear of 
making him angrier still, and — ” 

“ At that time the Wollmeyers had plenty of money 
again ?” I interrupted. 

Ac/i^ mein Gott ! the money came pouring in very 
soon after the bankruptcy !” cried Cousin Himmel, 
and let her wheel stop. “ From that time on every- 
thing went well ; he found some one to help him, a 
Herr von Brankwitz it was, who died long ago ; the 
one who was at the wedding is his son. This gentle- 
man, he bought the mill at the forced sale and made 
Wollmeyer superintendent, and it wasn’t two years 
before the mill belonged to Wollmeyer again. Money 
breeds money, Anneliese, and he grew very rich*, 


94 


FOR another’s wrong. 


there seemed to be an unholy blessing" upon all his 
ventures ; yes, yes, unholy, I say.” 

She paused, and, as waving her thoughts aside, she 
set her wheel in motion. 

“ And Robert ?” 

“ He ran away,” was the answer. “ Ke ran away. I 
don’t know what took place beforehand — don’t ask 
me !” 

And as I looked at her in silence, she murmured, as 
though talking to herself : 

“ He didn’t come into the kitchen as usual to get his 
breakfast. I waited as I would for the blessed sun- 
shine, and at last I went up to his garret room. It was 
empty, and his best clothes were not hanging on the 
wall, and his bit of linen was missing from the chest 
of drawers. Inside the window the snowflakes were 
dancing in the gray dawn of the December morning ; 
it was very cold— just two days before Christmas. My 
old arms seemed paralyzed. I couldn’t bake any 
Christmas cakes that year ; indeed, who was there to 
bake them for ? And there has been no Christmas for 
me since then — not since then !” 

“ Cousin Himmel,” I said, going closer to her, 
“ Cousin Himmel, hasn’t he ever written to you ?” 

She started up, and the dream vanished from her 
old eyes. She was again as cold and stern as ever. 

“Written? Who? Robert? No, why .should he 
write ? It is getting late. I must see whether the 
maids have locked the doors and closed the shutters. 
Good night, Fr^ulein Anneliese,” 


POR another*s wrong. 


95 


She shook the flax dust from her apron and car- 
ried out the spinning’-wheel. The door closed behind 
her, and I was left alone with my thoughts of Robert 
Nordmann. 




CHAPTER VII. 

It seemed as though Cousin Himmel had talked her- 
self out that night. The evenings that followed were 
passed in silence, and the storm that raged around the 
ancient building was the only sound that reached our 
ears. 

Our acquaintances gradually ceased to trouble them- 
selves about me. It was a thankless task at best, and, 
moreover, something new occurred to take their inter- 
est from me. Lore von Tollen had become engaged to 
Adelbert Becker, of whom nothing more definite was 
known than that he had money, and that he had pushed 
himself, with unheard-of presumption, into the inner 
circle of Westenberg society. 

Six months before I should have marveled to hear 
that the proudest and the loveliest girl in Westenberg 
had made this choice. Now I no longer marveled ; 
since mamma’s marriage I considered all things 
possible. 

One day at the beginning of November, a telegram 
was received with the news that mamma and Herr 
Wollmeyer would return that evening. I sat cuddled 
up in an easy-chair by the stove, and did not move. I 
[96] 



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FOR another’s wrong. 


97 


was tired, mortally tired. I had coughed the whole 
night through. What concern of mine was it, any- 
way ? A feeling I had never known before came over 
me when I thought of mamma. 

The house was in a commotion ; all the rooms 
upstairs were heated, the doors garlanded, and the 
flower-stands filled with plants. Cousin Himmel re- 
mained wholly invisible. She was presiding in the 
kitchen, surrounded by jars of pickles and preserves. 

Toward three o’clock the parlor-maid came in and 
asked me if I did not wish to look at the rooms up- 
stairs ; they were all in readiness, and only waiting 
for the coming of the master and mistress. I answered 
shortly in the negative. 

Cousin Himmel was very late in bringing me my 
dinner. 

“ Don’t be angry, Fraulein Anneliese !” she said, 
when she appeared. “ I ’ve go your favorite dish for 
you.” 

I did not feel like eating. I was dull and feverish 
and leaned my head back wearily ; there was really 
very little make-believe about my indifference. 

At half-past five Cousin Himmel asked me if I 
wished to go to the station to meet my parents ; 
Friedrich was just leaving. 

“ No,” I answered, shortly. 

As I sat there in the dusk my heart beat wildly at 
every swing of the pendulum of Cousin Himmel’s old 
clock. The lamp before the gateway, opposite, 
gleamed red in the misty air of the November even- 


98 


FOR another’s wrong. 


ing-, and outside the window the first large snowflakes 
floated down, slowly and one by one at first, then 
more quickly, densely, growing at last into a mad, 
wild dance. A glistening mantle, smooth and white, 
laid itself upon the branches of the ancient lindens 
before the windows, and a gleaming carpet spread it- 
self over the court. From my seat beside the stove I 
could watch the dance of the whirling snowflakes, but 
the soft carpet of snow prevented me from hearing 
the carriage, and I sat there, watching and waiting, 
unconscious that my mother was just setting her foot 
across her threshold with a disappointed face. It was 
not until I heard a commotion upstairs that I started 
to my feet. Could she be here already ? But no ! 
vSurely she would have asked for me ; she would have 
come to me first. 

Cousin Himmel came in, her withered old face flushed 
with zeal and the heat of the kitchen fire. 

“ Why, Anneliese,” she said reproachfully, “ you 
ought to have met your mamma at the door. She 
looked so sad. And he — he made a face like three 
days of bad weather.” 

“So the struggle has begun,” I. said to myself, and 
ascended the stairs with clenched teeth to greet mam- 
ma, perfectly sure of going to an unpleasant encounter. 

The master and mistress were dressing, the parlor- 
maid told me, and conducted me into a drawing-room 
that was really charmingly furnished. I had leisure 
to examine everything in this room, as well as the din- 
ing-room adjoining, in which the family portraits of the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


99 


Serren burgs, touched up by a skillful hand, presented 
a very fine appearance. On the other side of the draw- 
ing-room was mamma’s boudoir, fitted up entirely in 
pale blue. Nothing had been left undone that zeal and 
good taste could accomplish, and I was forced to con- 
fess to myself that Herr Wollmeyer had done every- 
thing to prepare a princely home for his second wife. 

Poverty and want were at an end ; but I could not 
help thinking that with the disappearance of Frau von 
Sternberg’s modest furniture the old happiness had 
also vanished from these rooms. 

At this moment I heard my stepfather’s oily, self- 
satisfied voice behind the portiere : 

“ Little daughter ! Where is our dear little daugh- 
ter ?” And immediately after he crossed the threshold 
with outstrecthed hands and beaming face. “ How are 
you ? How are you, my dear little Anneliese ?” he 
cried, as though we had always been the best of friends. 
And, despite my repulse, he drew me to him and 
pressed his lips to my forehead. 

My blood seemed frozen in my veins. I drew 
back, dumb. Then mamma came in and I fled to her 
arms and scanned her face, as though I could read 
therein whether she had entirely forgotten my dear 
father and me. She looked fresh and rosy, and wore 
a striking and elegant ,housedress. 

“ My dear little Anneliese,” she said, “ I must begin 
by being angry with you ! During the entire journey 
I had dreamed of having you meet us at the threshold, 
and—” 


100 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Nonsense, Helene, there must be no scolding V* 
Herr Wollmeyer interrupted. “ One can’t hear the 
rolling of the carriage in the snow, and surely the 
child could not stand at the door and expose herself to 
the draught on our account. . How is your health, by 
the by, Anneliese ? Is the cough better ?” 

It all sounded very fine and friendly. 

“ Thank you. Yes,” I said untruthfully, and looked 
at my champion with astonished eyes. 

“ And you don’t occupy your pretty rooms up here ?” 
mamma went on complaining. 

“ No, I feel more comfortable downstairs.” 

“Do leave the child alone, Helene, I beg of you !” 
he broke in again, walking about us with smiling face 
and his hands crossed behind his back. “ She will 
get accustomed to it in time. Leave it to time, Helene ; 
leave it to time ! You must not expect that little ice- 
berg there to melt all at once ; isn’t that so, my dear 
Anneliese ? By and by, when you grow to know your 
stepfather better you will have more of a liking for 
him — eh, eh ?” he said, laughingly, as I made an in- 
voluntary gesture of denial. “ Not to-day or to-mor- 
row, to be sure. All things come to him who 
waits !” 

And with that he threw me a kiss and disappeared 
into the dining-room to inspect the table. 

“You could, at least, have thanked him in your 
letter, Anneliese, for the loving care he has shown in 
providing a home for you in his house. How will it 
all end if you remain so obstinate ! Will you never 


FOR another’s wrong. 


101 


see how wrongly you judge him — that you owe him a 
great deal of gratitude ?” 

I should be very happy if I could see it some day, 
mamma, for your sake. Please, please let me be happy 
in my own way, downstairs among my old memories. 
I will do anything else so as not to disturb the tran- 
quijity of your home.” • 

Ah, for the present I could not have disturbed the 
tranquility of her home even had I wished to. Herr 
Wollmeyer was as radiant as the sun itself, and flooded 
everything that came within his range with his efful- 
gence. In his overweening self-satisfaction he was 
pleased to take no notice of my indifference ; on the 
contrary, he smiled on me only the more graciously. 
For every scornful twdtch of my mouth at one of his 
pompous gaucheries he had some kind word for me ; 
for every open disregard of one of his wishes, the ful- 
fillment of one of mine. On my refusal to take the 
long-promised journey for my health, I found myself 
in possession of a pretty pony-carriage, that I might 
have opportunity to take plenty of fresh air ; and one 
day a beautiful new piano stood in my room. Thank 
goodness, they had left the old one where it was, and 
neither the new acquisition nor the pony was much 
troubled by me. 

All Westenberg marveled at young Frau Woll- 
meyer’s new establishment ; wherever I went I was 
obliged to hear of the wonderful good fortune that 
had befallen mamma. Even the countess grew rec- 
onciled to the man’s manners, and remarked that he 


102 


FOR another's wrong. 


had improved greatly under Lene’s training. At last 
I, with my dislike and my frigidity, became a sort of 
rara avis among all the rest, and mamma’s grieved 
looks told how hard she found this. 

But was she really happy ? On the one hand, the 
possibility that she was, was a real comfort to me ; on 
the other, the thought that she could be capable of 
living happily with this man enraged me to the very 
depths of my soul. Sometimes when she came down 
to my room of an evening, which happened seldom 
enough now, to sit beside my bed for a few minutes, 
as she used to do, I found myself silently staring at 
her and trying to solve this riddle. Once it seemed to 
me that she had been weeping, but I had not the 
courage to question her. She never complained. 
What had she to complain of ? She had everything 
that the heart of woman could desire, but it hurt me 
to see her so contented. 

“ He is very good,” she said, one day, when I found 
her over her cash-book, struggling to discover some 
mistake that she had made ; accounts had always 
been her weak point. He has so much patience 
with me,” 

At this moment he looked in at the door, and laughed 
when he saw her thus employed. 

“ Ah, yes,” he cried, “ we are now the wife of a mer- 
chant, and the accounts must be kept differently from 
what they used to be.” 

“ I will relieve you of them, mamma,” I said quietly. 
And from that day I always helped her with her books. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


103 


She would come downstairs to me, and when we were 
not doing the accounts we would talk together as we 
used to in old times ; or I would go upstairs to her 
dressing-room, where she was hurrying into some silk 
or velvet gown, for they were making their first calls, 
and mamma had to be gowned as befitted the rank of 
a Frau Wollmeyer. Later on came the return calls, at 
which my presence was desired, and when these were 
over the master of the house took up his old life again; 
that is, he went to the meetings of the common coun- 
cil and twice a day to the club, Sundays to church, and 
Wednesday evenings, with mamma, to the whist club. 

I, meanwhile, lived like the enchanted princess of a 
fairy tale, with my dear old Cousin Himmel, and medi- 
tated upon how I could free myself, for that another 
person would rescue me from my position seemed im- 
possible to me. I also wanted to owe my freedom to 
my own exertions, and I worked industriously to per- 
fect myself in music and the languages. No one needed 
me here. Mamma was happy. 

November was gradually drawing to an end, and 
preparations were being made for the reception of 
guests — Herr von Brankwitz and his sister. Cousin 
Himmel’s feet went trotting up and downstairs all day 
long, and her face wore an expression very different 
from its usual one. A bright red spot burned upon 
either cheek. Mamma had complained of headache 
after dinner, and was not able to accompany Herr 
Wollmeyer to the station to receive their visitors. I 
was sitting in my room, endeavoring to write a French 


104 


FOR another’s wrong. 


letter to some fictitious person, when mamma came in 
and reminded me that it was time to dress. Then she 
stroked my cheek and slipped a little package into my 
hand. 

“ He would like to have you wear it to-night. He 
told me to tell you.” 

The he was Herr Wollmeyer. She always spoke of 
him thus to me. I opened the package ; a small 
heart-shaped locket, studded with diamonds, sparkled 
before my eyes. 

‘‘ But what is this for, mamma ?” escaped from me 
involuntarily. 

“ He means so well, he wants to give you a pleas- 
ure,” she replied. “You will wear it, will you not?” 
and she fixed her eyes anxiously upon me. 

“ If you really wish it, mamma.” 

“ Please !” she said softly. 

At this moment Cousin Himmel came in, still flushed 
with her work over the kitchen fire. Mamma swiftly 
approached her and held out her hand. 

“ Cousin Himmel, he didn’t mean it in that way,” 
she whispered. 

I looked in amazement from one to the other. 

“Of course, of course !” murmured the old woman, 
and she pressed mamma’s hand. “ He was right, too. 
We do our work worse as we get old, and it isn’t Woll- 
meyer’s fault if God has ordained that we shall slowly 
wither and fade away ; it will happen to him, too, some 
day.” 

“ Don’t be so bitter, cousin !” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


lOo 


“ I am not bitter, not at all ; if I had meant to be 
bitter, I — ” 

Mamma turned slowly to me. 

“ You must be gfood this evening,” she said authori- 
tatively. Then she went away wearily, looking years 
older in spite of her elegant and almost too youthful 
costume. 

“ What has happened, Cousin ?” I asked, anxiously, 
as the door closed behind her. 

“ Nothing at all, nothing at all,” she said, in her 
cheerful way. “ There are squally days sometimes, 
you know. You must make up for it. Look to-night 
as you always used to look, like a bit of blessed sun- 
shine in the room, and things will be better.” 

Mamma’s appearance had made me more unhappy 
than I had been in a long time. She was right ; she 
had a right to demand that I should be more agree- 
able. Under the influence of this good resolution, I 
began to dress quickly, and I was just ready when 
the carriage rattled over the courtyard, and I went 
out — to welcome the visitors, for mamma’s sake. 
Friedrich threw open the carriage door, and I stepped 
to the threshold. 

A high, lisping feminine voice sounded from the 
carriage. 

“ Ah, even white-robed maidens to receive me ? 
You have unique fancies, Uncle Wollmeyer !” 

Herr Wollmeyer, who had caught sight of me, 
laughed as he assisted a tall figure to alight. 

“ Yes, it is Anneliese, our wild, stubborn little girl. 


106 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Come here, Anneliese. There ; give each other a 
kiss — so.” 

I almost disappeared in the voluminous folds of the 
silken mantle, and was nearly stifled by the heavy 
scent of patchouly. 

“Ah* what a little doll !” said the same high voice. 
“ Like a tiny figure of Meissner porcelain — sweet, 
simply sweet !” 

“Do let her go, Olga !” said a third voice. “ Do you 
want to smother her ? Good-evening, gnddiges Frau- 
lein. I am delighted to see you looking so well. At 
the wedding you were somewhat — ” 

Young Brankwitz had stretched out both hands to 
me, and the sight of him brought back the desperate 
mood that had possessed me on that unhappy wedding- 
day. I felt all the blood surge to my heart, felt myself 
grow pale. I laid one finger for an instant in his hand, 
then turned away abruptly. 

Fortunately, the countess was just entering the door, 
in her favorite evening costume, with skirts tucked 
up, on her feet huge wooden shoes, which were pre- 
ferred to overshoes in Westenberg on account of the 
muddy roads ; an ample, old-fashioned cloth mantle 
around her, a hood of long gone-by fashion on her 
head, a huge lantern in the one hand, and an umbrella 
equally huge in the other. 

With a cry of joy I flew toward this apparition, so 
grotesque and yet so dear. 

“ Good evening,” she cried ; and paying no attention 
to the stranger, whose plump pink-and-white face 


POR another’s wrong. 


101 

tinder the sealskin cap was the picture of astonishment 
and consternation, she went on : “ Every one of the 

wise and mighty town-councilors might be dead and 
buried, so far as I am concerned, Herr Wollmeyer ! 
Isn’t there a single lamp burning in the whole town ? 
At Cobbler Griin’s corner one of my pattens stuck fast, 
and if I had not had my lantern, it would be sticking 
there still. You ought to know by this time that there 's 
no depending on the moon.” 

“At the next election you shall be proposed for 
burgomaster, my dear countess,” answered the master 
of the house, with a laugh. “But as we are met here 
so unexpectedly, may I present Frau Sellmann, nee 
Von Brankwitz, to you ? Honored guests, and to be 
with us a long time, I hope. Herr von Brank- 
witz !” 

“Already had the pleasure,” the countess said to the 
latter, while her gigantic hood inclined itself slightly 
toward the young widow. “ Very happy, but if we are 
to remain here, my good Wollmeyer, have some chairs 
brought out or allow me to go on ahead.” 

And with her turned-up skirts, and her great heelless 
boots, she marched to the stairs, after leaving her 
wooden shoes at the door. 

Frau Sellmann followed, laughing, and the rest of us 
brought up the rear. I caught sight of an enormous 
trunk being taken into the rooms on the other side of 
the hall, opposite mine. So these were to be Frau 
Sellmann’s quarters. 

Upstairs, mamma met us in the ante-room. Re- 


108 


FOR another's wrong. 


newed greetings followed, and an interminable kissing 
and embracing on the part of the n^e Von Brankwitz, 
while the countess allowed her cloak to be removed 
and put her gown to rights. 

** Good evening, Lene," she said, when mamma was 
released at last. “ What is going on here ? Is there 
going to be dancing ?” 

Mamma looked down at her light dress with an em- 
barrassed smile. 

“ Well, you must excuse me. I have on my old 
frock. I would not risk my black silk in the storm. 
You must take the will for the deed !” 

And she kissed mamma on the forehead, and looked 
with an astonished air at Frau Sellmann, who wished 
to make only a little toilet. 

Mamma excused herself to the countess, directed me 
to lead her to her boudoir, and went downstairs to 
show the guest her rooms. 

“ Well, chicken, how are you ?” asked the countess, 
when we had reached the boudoir — the gentleman had 
gone up to Herr von Brankwitz’s rooms on the next 
floor “You don’t find things tedious any longer, do 
you? Something new every day — you have to play 
the daughter of the house, don’t you ? But, dear me, 
how Lene does look ! Has she been crying ?” 

“ I do not know, auntie. I have seen very little of 
mamma to-day.” 

I looked at mamma more closely when she returned ; 
yes, her eyes were tired and the lids reddened, and she 
pressed her hand to her right temple very frequently. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


109 


Something must have occurred which she, as well as 
Cousin Himmel, wished to conceal from me. 

The master of the house, who had a predilection for 
calling me “ little daughter ” that day, conducted the 
countess on one arm and Frau Sellmann on the other, 
to the dining-room. He was in high, good humor. 
Herr von Brankwitz gave mamma his right arm ; I 
overlooked the other and sauntered behind them with 
downcast eyes. At table I, of course, sat next to 
him. 

He began to converse with me in a low tone, at the 
same time endeavoring to fix his light blue eyes on 
mine. I replied in an intentionally loud voice and 
very shortly. This young man seemed utterly foolish 
to me. His sister, however, was a very different sort 
of person. Tall, graceful, glib of tongue, with a 
rosy complexion and Titian-red hair ; the latter 
charms, however, as well as the black eyebrows, being 
derived from cosmetic sources. She had squeezed her 
voluptuous figure into a black satin gown, and to any 
one whose eyesight was a little defective, she was 
without doubt strikingly handsome, but a beauty 
which had something painful in it for honest women. 

The countess, in her cap of black woolen lace, fast- 
ened with garnet pins, and her plain black wool dress, 
kept her eyes fixed upon the stranger with the expres- 
sion of mingled suspicion and haughtiness so familiar 
to all who knew her. When she chose, the old lady 
could look very disagreeable, and she did so this even- 
ing in a marked degree. I would have given a good 


110 


FOR another's WRONO. 


deal to have been able to read her thoughts at that 
moment. 

“ There is something indescribably cozy about a 
little town like this,’' Frau Sellmann remarked, in her 
flute^like voice, over her oysters. “ One seems to be 
as far removed from the present as though one were 
living in the Middle Ages. I fancy that time must 
stand still here.” 

“ By no means,” said the countess, dryly. “ People 
grow old here as well as in Berlin. Isn’t that so, my 
dear Wollmeyer ?” 

“ Who can speak of age in the presence of such 
lovely ladies ?” cried Herr von Brankwitz. “ Ladies, 
your health ! Yours in particular, Fraulein von Stern- 
berg !” 

I touched glasses with him,, but avoided his glances. 

“ My sister is right when she says that time stands 
still here,” he continued. “You ought to live some- 
where else, gnddiges Fraulein. This is not the place 
for you. You must be seen, admired — ” 

He stopped. I looked at him very strangely, no 
doubt. 

“ Uncle Wollmeyer, you must send the dear thing to 
me some time,” said Frau Sellmann. 

“Anneliese is quite happy here, I believe,” the 
countess broke in. “ Aren’t you, my daughter ?” 

“ If by the ‘ dear thing ’ you mean me — I thought 
you were speaking of mamma’s poodle — I am not pin- 
ing in the least for Berlin.” 

“ Anneliese !” mamma said reprovingly. 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


Ill 


\ Otto von Brankwitz laughed. 

\ “For the present we are all to remain here and enjoy 
ourselves as much as possible !” cried my stepfather. 
“ I am going to arrange a grand ice fite on the pond.” 

“ Why, it isn’t cold enough to freeze,” said Frau Sell- 
man n. 

•‘A Westenberg councilor can do anything,” the 
countess remarked. “ He can even make it freeze.” 

“ Charming, countess, bravo !” cried the master of 
the house. “We will have sleighing parties, a moon- 
light ball, a house ball, Christmas festivities, a chari- 
table performance, and so on and so forth. Let us 
drink to a merry winter !” 

“ I drink to something else as well,” whispered Herr 
von Brankwitz, looking into my eyes, and he touched 
my champagne glass, which stood on the table where 
I let it remain. 

I shrugged my shoulders imperceptibly and put on 
a haughty air. 

Coffee was served in the Turkish room which ad- 
joined mamma’s boudoir. Frau Sellmann lay stretched 
out upon a divan, smoking a cigarette ; the countess 
sat on one of the low ottomans with a piece of coarse 
knitting in her hand ; the gentlemen were smoking. 

“ Anneliese, play me my favorite piece,” the old lady 
begged, and I went into the next room to play Haydn’s 
Oxen minuet, which always took her back to her by- 
gone youth, when she had once played it with a prince 
at a party given by his excellency, her father. 

Suddenly a man’s broad but well-kept hand was 


112 


FOR another’s wrong. 


stretched over my shoulder and the music was 
turned. 

“ Thank you, but I preier to do it myself,” I said. 

“ Why are you so unfriendly, Fraulein Anneliese ?” 
came the whispered answer. ** If you only knew how 
I have rejoiced at the thought of seeing you again, 
ever since that day when I had the honor of being 
your dinner partner ! You were enchanting at the 
wedding, such a wild little gypsy, and yet so sweet ! 
I said to my sister when I went back to Berlin : 

‘ Olga, you can’t believe what spirit there is in that 
little creature — pardon me, that young lady — what 
high breeding, what — ’ ” 

I banged the three final chords, closed the piano, 
got up and left the room. 

I had completely forgotten that I had resolved to be 
civil for mamma’s sake, but surely she could not ex- 
pect me to listen to such driveling. It amounted very 
nearly to a declaration of love, or was, at least, a very 
good preface to one, but in as bad taste as it was pos- 
sible for anything to be. After all, the pleasantest 
spot in the whole house was my lonely room down- 
stairs, the most intelligent society that of my dear old 
guardian-angel, whose especial virtue, indeed, I had 
not yet learned up to that evening. 

“Thank heaven!” I exclaimed, as I stood before 
the old woman, who was sitting in her room by the 
table in the light of the kerosene lamp, and turning- 
over a pile of odds and ends. “ I couldn’t stand it up 
there any longer, cousin ! Mamma looks ready to 


FOR another’s wrong. 


113 


burst into tears at any minute. He is black as a 
thundercloud, and Frau Sellmann, n^e Yon Brankwitz, 
ought to be suppressed by the police for using such 
perfumes. Her brother has learned the * Pocket 
Suitor ; or the Art of Making Oneself Beloved by the 
Ladies,’ by heart and is trying its effect upon me ; and 
the countess is sitting looking on, not knowing what to 
make of it all.” 

“You ought to have put up with it, Anneliese ; it 
will only make bad feeling. Go upstairs again ; re- 
member what you promised your mother.” 

But I remained obdurate, got myself a chair, sat 
down beside the old woman, and thereby conjured up a 
tempest that had, indeed, long been muttering in the 
heavens, and that now burst suddenly and devastat- 
ingly over my little morsel of peace and happiness. 

Cousin Himmel had been rummaging in her cup- 
board, and upon the table lay books and packages of 
letters. She had drawn over her left hand an old 
knitted blue - and - white school-cap that had been 
roughly treated by wind and weather, and was tenderly 
stroking it with her right, just as the door of the outer 
room was shut to with a crash, and the master of the 
house came blustering with short, quick steps into our 
paradise. He might easily have heard my question 
whether the cap had belonged to Robert Nordmann. 

Cousin Himmel sat silent and horror-stricken. 

“ So here you are !” he exclaimed. “ I must request 
that you take the trouble to go upstairs again to my 
guests. You are not a child any longer ; you are the 


114 


FOR another’s wrong. 


grown-up daughter of my house, and I have a right to 
expect you to show some consideration for this house. 
I am surprised, Anneliese, that you should prefer an 
old woman’s gossip to intellectual conversation. But 
I intend to put a stop to this altogether too intimate 
intercourse with my cousin. She sets wife and child 
against me, as she did with my first wife and my 
nephew. There must be an end to it. You must pack 
your things to-morrow !” He turned to the old woman, 
who had sprung up and was clasping her hands in 
silent despair. “You can go to Langenwald and live 
at the mill, where you always meant to pass your old 
age. At any rate, you shall not remain here to work 
mischief any longer !” 

With that he stopped to draw breath, polished his 
eyeglasses, and looked at us both with an annihilating 
glance. Then he turned to go. 

“ Wollmeyer, what has come over you ?” Cousin Him- 
mel asked in a shaking voice. “ When have I ever 
spoken against you ? I have kept silence — always kept 
silence. You know that better than any one else.” 

“ I don’t need your silence,” he said, arrogantly, 
coming back again. “ Do you understand ?” 

“ Well, then,” interrupted Cousin Himmel, “ if you 
don’t need my silence, how can I set any one on ? I ’ve 
never been accused of that before. But I can go. I 
ivill go. You are right, Wollmeyer, it is better so.” 

She passed the back of her hand across her forehead 
and began to collect her few, poor little “ remem- 
brances.” 


FOii ANOtHER’s WRONC. 


115 


Tell me, Anneliese, have I ever set you against 
hii^ ?” she asked, thinking he had left the room. 

“ No, indeed !” I cried, scarcely able to contain my- 
self ; “ besides, I never let myself be influenced by 
any one ; I do what I consider right !” And I 
clenched my teeth and looked with burning hatred , at 
the man who shrugged his shoulders and watched me, 
conscious of his power. 

“ I shall expect you upstairs in five minutes," was 
his only answer. “ Brankwitz wants to play a duet 
with you." 

I made no reply. 

Cousin Himmel called the man back from the door 
a second time. 

“ Are you angry on account of Brankwitz, Woll- 
meyer ? Lieber Gott ! If I were standing in the wit- 
ness box I could only repeat what I said this morn- 
ing to Anneliese’s mother, that he is nothing but an 
idler and a ne’er-do-well ; that he is as eager to fling 
away his money as his father was to pile it up, and 
that his sister is not fit company for the gnddige 
Frau, to say nothing of Anneliese. I say this now be- 
fore Anneliese, as I am going away, and because I 
want her to know what I think of the visitors up- 
stairs. I shall go in good season to-morrow, Woll- 
meyer, you may be sure of it." 

She laid her hand on my arm. 

Go upstairs like a good girl, Anneliese ; mamma 
is waiting for you. You need have no fear — go ! I 
still have a word to say to him." 


116 


FOR another’s wrong. 


She pushed me past my mother’s husband, closed 
the door behind me, and was left with him alone. 

Trembling with anxiety, I leaned against one of the 
cupboards that stood in the adjacent room. Surely a 
terrible outbreak w^ould follow ! I waited in breath- 
less anxiety, that I might go to the old woman’s as- 
sistance, but everything remained quiet. Cousin 
Himmel spoke in her usual tones and at no great 
length. So I gathered myself together and went up- 
stairs. I sat down beside Brankwitz and played in a 
purely mechanical fashion while the premonition of a 
dark and mysterious future weighed upon me, con- 
fusing and terrifying. What did it all mean ? What 
was the reason for this intentional repetition before 
me of Cousin Himmel’s unfavorable opinion of Brank- 
witz ? What had taken place this morning between 
Herr Wollmeyer and Cousin Himmel and my mother ? 

Wollmeyer came upstairs, patted me on the shoul- 
der, spoke of me as a “ little runaway,” commended 
Frau Sellmann to me as an example, urged upon the 
latter the taming of his “ little daughter,” and handed 
to the delighted countess a weighty packet for her 
Christmas distributions. If a stranger could have 
looked into this comfortable room, where the well- 
dressed men and women were chatting together over- 
their Mocha and Turkish cigarettes, and where deli- 
cate clouds of smoke wreathed themselves in the red 
folds of the tentlike ceiling ; could have seen mamma 
in her easy-chair, with me on a stool at her feet; could 
have heard the words of the master of the house as he 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


117 


called her “dearest Helene ” and “darling” — he would 
have thought : How enviable, how happy, all these 
people are ! 

When I went downstairs again that night, I found 
Cousin Himmel hovering between her trunk and her 
bandbox, busily packing her belongings. The wrinkled 
old face looked strangely wan. 

“ Dear, dear cousin !” I cried, with tear-filled eyes. 

“ I ’ve been with him for five-and-twenty years, 
through joy and sorrow,” she said sadly, “and it’s been 
mostly sorrow. It comes pretty hard on me. But he’s 
right ! He ’s right !” 

“ What shall I do without you ?” I faltered, for I was 
struggling with my rising sobs. 

“ You must not say that, Anneliese,” she protested 
shyly and much moved. “ You have your mother, and 
you are a fine lady, and I am only a plain old woman. 
But it makes me happy to hear you say so, for I am 
fond of you, Anneliese — very fond of you; and if there 
ever comes a day when you don’t know which way to 
turn, then come to me. It isn’t so far away. And if 
you won’t take what I say amiss, I would beg you to 
try and humor him more than you have, for your 
mother’s sake — not for any other reason. But if he — 
if Brankwitz — Don’t give in to them. It would be a 
sin and a shame. That alone you must not do.” 

“ What have I to do with Brankwitz ?” I demanded. 

“ Nothing, nothing at all, thank God ! Stick to it, 
Anneliese ! You will go to Hannchen’s grave some- 
times, won’t you, and carry her a wreath of ivy from 


118 


POU ANOtHER's WRONG. 


the garden wall now and then ? She was always so 
fond of it. There, and now go to sleep, Anneliese. I 
am almost ready for bed myself. I didn’t think that I 
had gotten so much plunder together. I never bought 
anything but what I really needed. You will write 
me, won’t you, sometimes ? I will answer, but I never 
learned to write well. Robert, now, his writing looked 
like copper-plate. Ah ! I have only two things to 
wish for in this world — one is that he may come back, 
tall and handsome and distinguished, and then — ” 
She looked at me and nodded gravely, “ Yes, yes, 
one can’t help imagining pleasant things, even if they 
never come true ; and it is right that it should be so. 
God alone knows what is best. But I will pray for it 
every night, Anneliese.” . 

“ What is it, cousin ?” 

“ Oh, I won’t tell you. There never will anything 
come of it.” 

When I had gone to bed, she came to my room and 
put something into my hand. 

“ So that you won’t quite forget me, Anneliese.” 

I felt of it. It was a small coin hung on a 
ribbon. 

“ Many, many thanks, dear cousin. I should not 
forget you even without this.” 

At last her light, too, was put out, but sleep did not 
come to either of us. 

All at once I started up in affright. vSomething had 
fallen in mamma’s room, just overhead ; aloud, rever- 
berating crash shook the paneled ceiling, and then 1 


FOR another’s wrong. 


119 


heard a voice, a blustering, hectoring man’s voice, 
which rose to a cry of fury. 

“Cousin ! Cousin !” I wailed. “Oh, mamma !” 

No answer. 

All was silent upstairs for a moment. Then again 
the threatening voice. I hurried on a dress and was 
about to go upstairs, forgetting all in my horror ; but 
a ray of light fell upon me, and Cousin Himmel held 
me back. 

“ Stay here, for Heaven’s sake stay here ! I am 
going up.’’ 

Her rigid face looked stern and resolute in the 
candle-light as she left me. I counted the seconds, 
my heart throbbing furiously. He — he vras abusing 
my mother, who had never heard a rough word in her 
life. His kindness, his devotion, had suddenly been 
dropped like a mask ; his real character looked forth 
with the brutal face that I had always feared to see. 
Oh, dear Lord, let it all be a mistake — anything, any- 
thing but that ! 

Then all grew quiet again. Had Cousin Himmel 
been able to accomplish this ? What secret power did 
this woman have over the man ? What fear did she 
inspire him with, that he wished to rid himself of her ? 
I crept trembling back to my bed again, and listened 
with my head raised, as though I could pierce the 
darkness. How long Cousin Himmel remained away ! 
And all around me solitude — the deep silence of 
night. 

After to-morrow I should see the old woman no 


120 


FOR another’s wrong. 


more. I should be alone and defenseless, and so would 
mamma. 

She came back at last, wonderful to see in her night- 
cap and the shawl which she had thrown hastily about 
her. 

Go to sleep, Anneliese,” she whispered. ** It was 
nothing — nothing at all.” 

“Oh, cousin, cousin, he was abusing mamma!” 
I moaned. 

“ God forbid, child, God forbid ! It was Friedrich he 
was scolding — Friedrich. Go to sleep now — your 
mother is asleep — and wake up happy to-morrow.” 

For the first time she ventured a shy caress, and I 
flung my arms about her neck, sobbing : 

“ Oh, don’t go away — don’t go away !” 

“ Why, you mustn’t cry about that, Anneliese,” she 
said, quite overcome by my anguish. 

And she left me abruptly, that she might not show 
signs of weakness, and I cried myself to sleep. I did 
not suspect that on my awakening my guardian angel 
would be far away, journeying toward the Thu- 
ringian mountains. The old woman had gone in the 
early morning without a farewell to any one. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

“ Well, we '11 have some peace now,” said my step- 
father at early breakfast, when he heard the news. 
“ My dear Otto, there is a saying, ‘ When the devil 
owes a man a grudge he gives him a pretty daughter.’ 
Oh, Anneliese, that ’s nonsense, isn’t it ? I say that 
he puts a gossiping woman in his house. A maledic- 
tion upon the old woman, and may we never see her 
again !” 

At mamma’s wish, I presided over the breakfast. 
The ladies had not yet appeared ; mamma had kept 
her bed on account of a headache, and Frau Sellmann 
had ordered her tea served in her room, as she was 
accustomed to drink it in bed. I was peremptorily 
awakened from my short sleep : Cousin Himmel had 
gone ; the gnddige Frau was ill, and I was to kindly 
see to the breakfast table. 

I cannot express how dreary and forsaken I felt on 
this morning, when there was no guardian angel 
kneeling before the stove to light the fire for her 

[I2I] 



FOR another’s wrong. 


1 oo 

i /w V 

“ Annelicschen.” How pleasant it was to lie in my 
soft bed and dream and think in the flickering fire- 
light as it flitted over papa’s picture and made the 
dear face look almost life-like ; when the snow-flakes 
danced before the windows and flocks of hungry spar- 
row-s and wrens and other small birds perched on the 
snow-covered window sill, waiting for the food that I 
never failed to scatter for them, but not until Cousin 
Himmel had fed me, as though I, too, were a hungry 
birdling. She always had something good for me — 
new-laid eggs, a bit of pastry, delicate sausage, or 
some other dainty which she saved for me. And the 
breakfast table was always so appetizing, and the old 
woman looked so pleased when things tasted good to 
me. She had taken too good care of me, and now I 
was quite spoiled. No one had thought of lighting a 
fire in my room this morning ; no one had brought 
me my tea and my warmed slippers ; all this was true, 
but I was cold and hungry, not in body, but in 
spirit. 

“ May I go to mamma now ?” I asked my stepfather, 
for I had had enough of Herr Brankwitz’s glances. 

Herr Wollmeyer, who was reading the newspaper 
and giving expression to surprising political sentiments 
from behind the huge sheet, in which Bismarck, Windt- 
horst, national opinions and socialism were the watch- 
words, lowered the paper for an instant and remarked: 

“ You may, as far as I am concerned. And please 
ask mamma to send me to-day’s menu by you.” 

The menu — bill of fare was not sufficiently elegant in 


FOR another’s wrong. 


123 


his eyes — played an important part in his thoughts and 
in his conversation. Until now Cousin Himmel had 
always made it out and simply laid it before mamma, 
and my dear mother had invariably said, “Yes,” for 
Cousin Himmel had a very accurate knowledge of the 
councilor’s delicate palate. She had once told me the 
evolution of his taste : 

“At first he used to be glad when he had Thuringian 
potato dumplings and roast pork on Sundays. Then 
came roast every day, goose or pigeon or beef, with 
salad. But when we grew fine he suddenly demanded 
fricassees, pastries and oyster sauce. It didn’t take me 
long to learn, for I can’t deny that I have always had 
a sort of a talent for cooking, Anneliese.” 

I found mamma moaning with pain in a darkened 
room, that smelled of valerian. The new cook, who 
had been installed in great haste, stood before her, 
slate in hand. She seemed to be a disagreeable, pert 
sort of person, and mamma was not accustomed to 
making out menus. She had never needed to ; for in 
our exceedingly modest establishment we had never 
gone beyond carp ^nd roast hare or chickens, even 
when we gave what we called a “ supper.” 

“ Would the gnadige Frau like a puree of lobster, 
perhaps? And after that a filet a la jardiniere, or 
ptarmigan with sauerkraut in champagne ?” 

“ Yes, yes !” groaned mamma. 

“ And then, gnadige Frau ?” 

“ Oh, I really don’t know !” she moaned. 

“ Has there got to be something else ?” I asked. 


124 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Cook whatever you want to. Mamma is ill. Ask 
Herr Wollmeyer. Go ; please go/* 

“A fish mayonnaise, perhaps, before the roast?” she 
asked from the doorway. Mercy on us ! To whom 
shall I go ?” 

“ Go to your master ! Go !” I cried angrily. And 
she went at last. 

“Oh, what torture! What torture!” groaned mamma. 

She took the cloth from her hot face, and looked at 
me with hot and swollen eyes. 

“ Anneliese, dear Anneliese, I am so sorry, on your 
account, that Cousin Himmel had to go away.” 

“ My darling mother, don’t worry about that ; it 
will be all right ; I have you.” 

“ Going into society will divert you a little, won’t it, 
darling ? You have had a sad life so far, poor child !” 

“ 1 ?” I asked, in surprise. It seemed as though it 
had only just become dark, as though it had hitherto 
been all bright and golden. 

“ Be a little gayer, Anneliese ; a little more cordial 
to our guests. Will you ? You are often so sarcastic ; 
it offends — not me, for I know you, but you know whom 
I mean.” 

“ I will try, little mother, for your sake. I will purse 
up my mouth like our dressmaker, you know, and cul- 
tivate a high voice like that fat Frau Sellmann’s. Will 
that satisfy you ?” 

Mamma caressed me and murmured something. 

“ Did you hear the row with Friedrich last night, 
rtiamma ?” I asked, looking at her sharply. 


FOR another’s wrong 


125 


“ Did you hear anything ?” she exclaimed, starting 
up. 

Yes, I heard something ; hut I was very tired.” 

Yes, I believe Friedrich hit against a cabinet in 
the dark,” she said, but so falteringly that it told me 
all. Good God, I thought, had it come to this ? 

At this moment the door was thrown open violently, 
and the voice of the master of the house — that hated 
voice — cried : 

“ Is no one paying any attention to Olga Sellmann ? 
She is wandering about from one room to another. 
Anneliese, get ready to go out driving. I 've no time 
to go, unfortunately. I must go to the town hall. An 
invitation has come from the Postmaster-General for 
to-morrow. Lore Tollen’s wedding-present must be 
sent off and the card written. Is it quite impossible 
for you to get up, Lene ?” 

She would try to, later on,* and would appear at 
dinner anyway, she answered, shrinking at every 
word. 

I left her with a pressure of the hand to get ready for 
the drive. The mail phaeton, with the exaggeratedly 
high box, was drawn out and the new cob was being 
harnessed to it. I puzzled my brains to think how we 
were to sit, whether Frau Sellmann or I was to sit be- 
hind in the rumble. For that Herr von Brankwitz 
was to drive himself, there was not a particle of doubt. 

I went upstairs again in jacket and fur cap to get 
Frau Sellmann the dear old fur cap for which a marten, 
shot by papa himself, had sacrificed his skin ; it was a 


126 


FOR another’s wrong. 


trifle worn on the edges, but only a very little, and I 
was very fond of it. I found Frau Sellmann in a 
morning-gown of bright red plush, a fez on the Titian 
hair, smoking a cigarette in the Turkish room. 

“ Good morning, my love !” she called to me. 
“ Heavens, how tired I am ! There is something 
frightfully sleepy about this Westenberg — chloral is 
nothing to it.” 

“ I thought you were going out driving with us !” I 
exclaimed in surprise. 

“ Yes, I did mean to. I said I would, in order to 
get rid of that good Wollmeyer with his everlasting 
praises of Westenberg’s charms. No, I thank you, I 
won’t go. I am very comfortable where I am.” 

“ Then we are to stay here ?” I asked. 

“ You ? Oh, no. Otto would be simply wild ! No, 
you must go, or I shall be morally compelled to fling 
myself into a toilet and get’a frightful cold in an open 
carriage.” 

“ I beg your pardon. Of course, no one is going to 
force you to expose yourself to any danger !” 

I left her. On mamma’s accouni I dared not remain 
behind. 

Wollmeyer and Brankwitz were standing in the 
courtyard, examining the turnout which Brankwitz 
had bought for him from a well-known sportsman. I 
climbed in, assisted by my stepfather ; Herr von 
Brankwitz swung himself in on the other side, seized 
the reins, and the handsome black cob started. 

“ Wait !” I cried, “ Friedrich isn’t in yet.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


127 


“ Do you lay so much importance upon Friedrich ?” 
he asked, without pulling up. “ What do we need the 
fellow for ? We are not driving in the Thiergarten 
in Berlin, or ” — he looked at me through his single 
eyeglass — “ are you afraid of me, gfiddiges Frau- 
lein ?” 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ I am very glad.” 

“ Oh, you have no cause to be. If I were afraid of a 
man, it wouldn’t be — ” I was going to say : “ it wouldn’t 
be a matter of such complete indifference to me 
whether he sat beside me or not,” but I restrained 
myself. 

We drove at full speed through the town. The 
children scattered, shrieking, and people threw up 
their windows to stare after us. Herr Otto von Brank- 
witz wished to pose before me as a thorough sports- 
man. We whizzed around corners and rattled under 
the ancient brick gateway, and out onto the high road 
with a deafening clatter. The horse tore along at a 
great rate Once we almost ran over a peasant who 
was walking beside his peat wagon, pipe in mouth, 
and almost asleep, and the choicest Brandenburg oaths 
came flying after us. 

But we went on at the same pace until we reached 
the spot where the high road turns into the pine woods 
— the pine woods which I had always loved so dearly, 
and which to-day were to become fraught with un- 
pleasant memories. Herr von Brankwitz, in his hand- 
some fur coat, enthroned on the seat that was far too 


128 


FOR another’s wrong. 


high for him— it was really alarming to see him — let 
the horse drop into a walk, and remarked, by way of 
opening the conversation : 

“This God-forsaken country about Westenberg — ” 
And I had been thinking the very opposite. My 
heart swelled when I saw the pines over which lay a 
light covering of snow. Yonder, on the edge of the 
ditch that bordered the road on the right, a giant oak 
raised its hundred-knotted branches leafless to the 
somber sky which hung low and snow-laden over the 
country. A flock of crows started up with discordant 
cries, and in the light fall of snow, under the trees, 
there were hundreds of tiny footprints, as though the 
hares had already been having a meeting in the early 
morning. And over all this, the scent of the pines, 
that scent which I have never known to be so sweet 
and resinous as in this “ God-forsaken country — ” 

I let him talk on without listening to what he said, 
and, leaning back in the carriage, I breathed in the 
air with long, deep breaths. 

Brankwitz, from the height of his driver’s seat, now 
began to enter into reminiscences of his travels, of 
Nice, Cannes, Rome, Naples, Palermo, Alexandria. 

“ Ah, the South, the delightful South !” he exclaimed. 
“ Another race of men, handsomer, more pleasing, 
more passionate ! I can’t understand how any one 
can live in the North, having once been there. Life 
isn’t life here. Wouldn’t 3"ou like to see something of 
it, gracious Fraulein — you who look as though you 
had been born on the shores of the Bay of Naples ; 



“GOOD EVENING, GNADIGE8 FKAULEIN.”— ;iS'ee Page 106, 


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FOR another’s wrong. 129 

you who ought to be called Gemma, or Victoria or 
Beatrice, instead of Anneliese ?” 

“ I 've no doubt that it 's very beautiful, but I have 
no more desire to go there than I have for another 
name. I am much more interested in the North, and, 
if I had to travel, I should infinitely prefer Norway 
and Sweden to Italy.” 

“You can see one without neglecting the others,” 
he whispered, and bending down toward me, he at- 
tempted to steal a glance. 

“ I have no prospect of going to either place, and I 
am quite satisfied with my dear Brandenburg,” I con- 
tinued angrily. The daughter of a Prussian officer 
was aroused in me. “ Brandenburg is my home ; it is a 
part of my native land, this great, beautiful Prussia ; 
and when anyone says he cannot understand how 
people can come back here to live after seeing 
foreigns land, I am very sorry for him, for he 
shows that he has no love of country, no patriot- 
ism. It would be a very good thing for Germany 
if all such people were to live abroad the rest of their 
lives.” 

He will leave you in peace now, I thought to myself, 
and sat erect in the belief that this rebuff would silence 
him. 

“ You are charming, Anneliese,” fell upon my ears, 
nevertheless, “ really charming in your youthful patri- 
otism. I join in your cry : Long live Germany, long 
live Prussia, long live Brandenburg, the cradle of 
Prussia ! And still more, I almost believe that I could 


130 


FOR another’s wrong, 


love this, if you,” and he bent down to me again, “ if 
you and I — ” 

“ Herr von Brankwitz, you are a wretched driver ! Do 
you want to upset us ?” I cried, at the same instant 
seizing the reins and turning the horse to the left, for 
we should have inevitably run into a wood-pile. “ A 
driver should never look either to right or left, but 
straight at the road ahead of him,” I added contemptu- 
ously. 

He was confused as much as a man of his stamp 
can be. 

“ Inattention in your company is excusable,” he said, 
defending himself. “Ah, Anneliese, you don’t know — ” 

“ Please give me the whip,” I demanded ; he handed 
it to me. 

“ Are you fond of driving ?” he asked. 

“ I don’t know anything about it.” 

“ Would you like to learn, Anneliese ?” 

“ No.” 

“ But it is delightful sport to guide a fiery animal, 
to be carried along behind him and — ” 

“ Of course you are skilled in the art ?” I asked. 
“ Well, show what you can do,” and thereupon, in my 
anger, I gave the unsuspecting horse a violent cut of 
the whip, making him lash out furiously and break 
into a rapid gallop, which very nearly approached a 
runaway and threatened to overturn the light carriage 
at every step. Brankwitz, who was almost thrown 
from his seat by the horse’s violent plunge, had much 
difficulty in subduing the fiery brute, or, rather, he did 


FOR another’s wrong. 


131 


not subdue him at all ; but the well-trained animal 
thought better of it in a few moments and subsided 
into a more moderate pace. 

“ I beg of you,” he gasped at last. “ How could you ! 
There might have been an accident on this bad road. 
You are an energetic little lady, Anneliese, but you 
trifle with danger. I should have put a bullet in my 
brain, Anneliese, if you had been — ” 

‘‘ I shall do something very different if you presume 
to call me Anneliese again, Herr von Brankwitz. You 
are a perfect stranger to me, and will always remain 
so.” 

He bit his lip, and when, shortly after, we reached a 
lane that led toward Westenberg, he turned into it 
without another word. We soon drew up before our 
door in silence, and, disregarding his proffered hand, 
I sprang from the carriage and sought my room. 

Oh, if Cousin Himmel were only there ! How cold 
and empty it seemed, although it had been warmed, 
and I saw that mamma had been there. On the table 
lay a note from her. 

‘‘The Beckers have invited Frau Sellmann and Brankwitz to 
the wedding,” it ran. “ You must go with them this afternoon 
to call on the Beckers and TolJens, so dress accordingly.” 

I went to dinner with the dauntless unconcern that 
I had inherited from my father, and which is peculiar 
to people with good consciences and fearless hearts, 
fearless because they have not yet learned or suspected 
the vileness of their fellow-men. You are rid of him 
now, I said to myself ; and in this conviction I acted 


132 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


as usual toward the brother and sister ; and as I had 
been particularly rude to Brankwitz that morning, I 
allowed the meal to pass without treating him to a new 
rebuff, on mamma’s account. 

Unfortunately he misinterpreted this altogether, as I 
soon had occasion to learn. At four o’clock I was to . 
accompany the two on their calls. Frau Sellmann 
had dispatched half a dozen telegrams in regard to 
her toilet, in regard to presents, and heaven knows 
what else. She had made up her mind to make an 
impression upon Westenberg. As she walked along 
our breakneck sidewalks, balancing herself upon her 
high French heels, and arrayed in her black velvet 
gown, cut in the very latest mode, and her huge, 
black, Rembrandt hat, adorned with black feathers, 
which set off the Titian hair and the pink-and-white 
face, she made an undoubted impression, at least upon 
Frau Becker, who received us with a paralyzing flow 
of words. 

She had not been able to deny herself the pleasure 
of inviting so dear a friend of Adalbert’s, and, more- 
over, there was always such a lack of agreeable young 
men and charming ladies in a small town, and she 
thanked heaven from the bottom of her heart for 
sending two such delightful people. 

“ And how are you, Fraulein von Sternberg ? Have 
you talked over the gowns with Kathe Tollen ? In 
New York the bridesmaids all dress alike, and it looks 
charming. 1 am so sorry that we shall not have the 
pleasure of seeing Herr Councilor Wollmeyer and his 


FOR another’s wrong. 


133 


young wife here, but — we have never called on each 
other. Well, the children must make up for the parents’ 
neglect. The two mean to lead a very social life. And 
you, Fraulein von Sternberg, you have placed your- 
self under the countess’s protection, have you ? Charm- 
ing lady ! Do you know the countess, Frau Sellmann ? 
I have not said too much, have I ? You are not go- 
ing ? Oh, you are going to call on the Tollens ! Give 
my little daughter my love.” 

What a dreadful woman ! And I asked myself why 
the Beckers had never sought my stepfather’s acquaint- 
ance. If I had been more worldly wise, I should have 
seen that it was the similarity of their intentions that 
kept them apart. The upstarts had recognized each 
other. I had been asked to be bridesmaid only as the 
friend of the Tollen girls, and on Lore’s account I went, 
although it was repugnant to me to attend a wedding 
that, in my eyes, was almost as sad as my mother’s. 

We were not received at the Tollens’. The little 
house was as quiet as the grave. There was nothing 
to indicate the eve of such a great event. Frau Sell- 
mann then insisted upon going to the countess’s, where 
I had intended to go alone, and as I could not shake 
them off, we three repaired to the old gentlewoman’s 
house. She was at home, seated at the window, and 
sewing some time-honored lace upon an equally time- 
honored gray silk gown, which she was to wear on the 
morrow in Lore’s honor. She, too, was taking part in 
the festivities on the Tollens’ account alone. 

“Very glad to see you !” she said in greeting. “ Sit 


134 


FOR another’s wrong. 


down. You must excuse me, but this is my living- 
room. I don’t have the best room heated, as a rule.” 

A mocking, pitying smile flitted across Frau Sell- 
mann’s round face. The countess noticed it, and 
remarked : 

“ Yes, people don’t understand such things nowa- 
days, my dear Frau Sellmann. You probably have 
every room in your house heated and your servants’ 
rooms, too. We people of the old school have not 
grown accustomed to the chase after over-refinement ; 
in my time the whole family lived in one room, the 
master of the house excepted, of course. There we 
used to sit in the light of three small candles and do 
the finest embroidery, or repair the linen, and this 
was so everywhere, in my circle at least. My father 
was minister, my dear Frau Sellmann,” she added, 
“ and we were healthy and happy in our way of living. 
You smile ? Do you think that my coronet has lost 
any of its luster on account of that ? We have no 
way of keeping ourselves apart from the ostentation 
of modern times, except by our old simplicity, of 
which the greatest man in the realm, the greatest 
in character as well, our dear old Kaiser, is so shin- 
ing an example.” 

“ But the intellectual life must have been rather 
limited, countess, what with the tallow candles and 
darning !” retorted Frau Sellmann, 

“ Intellectual life limited at the time that a Goethe 
lived ? I don’t know of any generation when women 
took a more active part than at that time.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


135 


“ But it was all so dreadfully sentimental and ex- 
travagant,” the younger woman declared. 

“ It is quite true that we didn’t read French novels,” 
the countess said dryly. “ Modern taste is very differ- 
ent from what it was then. Which is the better is a 
question. The world struggles through all sorts of 
changes. A girl doesn't pine away nowadays over an 
unhappy love affair ; she consoles herself and marries a 
rich man. I don’t know which I prefer.” 

Here the conversation, which had become exceed- 
ingly painful to me, took another turn. A few com- 
monplaces were exchanged, and at last the countess 
said : 

“ By the way, Herr von Brankwitz, where was the 
fire this morning ? You drove through the streets 
with Anneliese like a tornado !” 

“ Ah, did the countess see us ? I was going to Dam- 
nitz. I wanted — ” 

“To Damnitz?” I asked. “You didn’t say a word 
about it to me.” 

“ Ah, I dared not say anything. The gracious 
Fraulein was notin a very approachable mood, countess, 
and so I returned to the house with my object unac- 
complished.” 

“ Are you thinking of buying Damnitz ?” inquired 
the old lady. 

“ Uncle Wollmeyer is very anxious to have me,” he 
answered. “ We looked at the property last autumn. 
Of course, it isn’t necessary to tie ourselves down 
there forever ; one still has one’s house in Berlin or some 


136 


FOR another’s wrong. 


other large city ; if one has a good steward it does 
very well. I wished to show the castle to Fraulein 
Anneliese — excuse me, Fraulein von Sternberg — one 
always likes to hear — a lady’s opinion. You can under- 
stand, countess, that a woman is the best judge of the 
interior. But as I said, we were in a very ungracious 
humor, and I preferred to wait for a more favorable 
mood»” 

The countess had turned her head and looked at me 
with surprise. I grew scarlet under the glance. 

“ I have not the least interest in Castle Damnitz, 
and I don’t understand anything about interiors,” I 
said. 

“ You are very belligerent, Anneliese,” said the 
countess, smiling. 

“ Very,” agreed Brankwitz, and stroked his blond 
beard. ** But I like that ; there is never any fear of 
€nnuiy 

Frau Sellmann interrupted this conversation by coyly 
begging the countess to take her under her wing at 
the morrow’s wedding. 

The old lady laughed outright. 

“ I should think as a married woman and — I think 
you will ’get on very well without my protection ! 
Anneliese and I shall not wait until the end. We shall 
disappear after the dessert — eh, my chick ?” 

“ Oh, that vrould be cruel !” cried Herr von Brank- 
witz. “ You must stay longer than that. And, besides, 
Fraulein Anneliese goes with us, of course.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


137 


I nodded to the countess. I shall go with you, 
auntie.” 

After that the old lady allowed a pause to ensue, 
which said plainly, “ You can take your leave now.” 
And when we had sat a while in silence, Frau Sellmann 
finally comprehended and rose to go. 

“ Until to-morrow, countess !” 

“ Until to-morrow !” the latter answered, kissing me 
on the forehead, while I told her rapidly and with 
moist eyes that Cousin Himmel had gone. 

“ Come to me as often as you like, my chick,” she 
answered, and patted me on the shoulder. 






CHAPTER IX. 

Lore’s wedding-day came. Its close was a sad one. 
Major von Tollen was stricken with apoplexy. Just as 
the countess and I were going down the steps on our 
way home, we heard the banging of doors and cries of 
alarm. The old lady went back at once to offer her 
aid to Frau von Tollen. I stood for a moment deliber- 
ating on the windy, snowy street. But, after all, why 
should I not go home alone ? I was so glad to escape 
from all the confusion, and the sight of the pale bride 
had moved me deeply. Besides, I trembled at every 
new attention on the part of Herr von Brankwitz. Con- 
tinued strife is wearying. 

So I gathered up as best I might the dress I had 
worn at mamma’s wedding and walked on. There was 
no light in Doctor Schdnberg’s house. It lay as dark 
under the tall trees as though death had visited it and 
so it was. A dead happiness lay buried there. 

Poor. Lore! False Lore! How could she? Yes, 
how could she ? If motives could suddenly assume 
human shape, what a bridal following would many a 

[138] 


FOR ANOTHER*S WRONG. 


139 


girl, many a woman have ? What, for instance, would 
mamma’s have been ? A pale, suffering woman would 
have walked at her side — Necessity ! Beside how few 
walks the beautiful, rose-crowned Love ! It was not 
love with Lore von Tollen either. She had looked very 
differently once — not so rigid and pale. It was surely 
not love of pleasure and love of self, these hateful 
twin-sisters, that had inclined her to this obnoxious 
man. Perhaps it was necessity here, too. The countess 
had talked so amiably to Lore’s father at table, and 
had glanced with displeasure more than once at Lieu- 
tenant von Tollen, the bride’s youngest brother, whom 
the countess had dubbed the “black sheep of the 
family.” Yes, who can tell what measures fate adopts 
to force poor mortals on a way they do not wish to 
follow ? 

I had walked on rapidly during these gloomy reflec- 
tions, and had turned into the church alley which runs 
between the walls of the castle garden and St. Mary’s. 
It was narrow, dark and deserted, but it shortened my 
way considerably, and I was not afraid. Suddenly 1 
heard steps behind me — hurried steps, as of one run- 
ning — and a breathless voice cried : 

“ Why, dear FrMein, how could you ? Y ou must 
not go alone !” 

I involuntarily quickened my steps, but, of course, 
Brankwitz overtook me, and walking close beside me, 
he tried to draw my arm through his, which I energet- 
ically prevented him from doing. Then he held me 
fast by my cloak, in the very darkest part of the alley. 


140 


KOR another’s wrong. 


and, with his face so close to mine that I could feel his 
hot breath, he asked, almost inaudibly : 

“ Anneliese, my sweet, wild Anneliese, why do you 
torment me so — why ?” 

“ Herr von Brankwitz !” I cried, and tried to pull 
away my cloak, but without success. 

“ Grant me a few moments !” he begged. “ You 
must know, you must feel how I love you, Anneliese ! 
You must not rob me of all hope. Can’t you love me 
a little, only a very little, in return ? Oh, I will be sat- 
isfied, happy, with that !” 

“ I love you ? Let go my cloak ! I can never love 
you, so let us never speak of it again. I do not like 
such senseless jests. You forget who I am !” 

I tried to go on as quickly as possible, for I was 
shaking with fear. I thought he must be drunk and 
might become even more importunate. 

“ I don’t understand how you can talk of jests ? You 
hurt me deeply, Anneliese.” 

I had reached the courtyard gate, opened the wicket, 
as the great gates were locked, and slipped through. 

You had better look out for your sister,” I called 
to him. ‘‘ She has remained behind in all the confu- 
sion, and there is no carriage there. How will she get 
home ?” 

With that I fled through the courtyard, and once in 
the house, I was not long in reaching my room. As I 
stood in the dark room, breathing fast, my hand 
pressed to my heart, I felt as secure as a wild creature 
that has found a sure refuge from its pursuers. 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


141 


I went slowly from one door to another, and turned 
the keys. I closed the heavy inside blinds, and then I 
gave way to my anger at his importunate wooing. I 
crouched on the window-seat, and for a long time 
I thought over what had happened, controlling with 
difficulty my excited feelings. Should I tell mamma ? 
But had she any will of her own ? I doubted it. All 
that 1 knew of her life since her marriage with Woll- 
meyer was a complete subservience to his will, an un- 
reserved acceptance of his opinions. If I only knew 
how Wollmeyer regarded this wooing ! If he was on 
the side of his nephew, there was much torment in 
store for me — an uninterrupted struggle. “ But struggle 
I will, papa,” I said, and nodded at his picture, which 
looked upon me in the dull light of a single candle. I 
would rather die than be the wife of such a vapid, in- 
significant man, whose sole achievement in life was 
that he had inherited his father’s money. He had not 
even taken part in the' war. He had stayed comfort- 
ably at home while papa and all the other brave men 
were listening to the bullets singing about their ears. 
And he wished to marry Anneliese von Sternberg ? A 
man who would be content to be loved “ only a little !” 
And he pretended to be a true man ! A true man 
would say : “ Love me, Anneliese, love me with your 
whole soul, with every fiber of your being, or send me 
away ! I will not have a little. All or nothing.” 

During this soliloquy I had taken off my festive 
attire and put on a dark house-dress. After glancing 
at the clock, I betook myself to say good evening to 


143 


FOR another's wrong. 


mamma. The thickly carpeted stairs in the round 
tower with its narrow windows had many windings, so 
I could not see that there was any one ahead of me ; 
the carpet deadened the sound of steps, and the first 
thing I heard was Olga Sellmann’s voice. She was 
speaking quite loudly and unconcernedly. 

“The plan is very fine, Otto, and certainly quite 
practicable, only you begin the thing entirely at the 
wrong end. Simply go to Wollmeyer, and there 
you are ! You play a sorry part as a love-sick 
swain.” 

“ Oh, uncle knows all about it,” my adorer answered 
impatiently. “ But see here, Olga, the mother declares 
that she won’t force Anneliese into a marriage. Her 
heart must choose, and so far it looks — ” 

“ Oh, that wife — that nonentity ! You Ve only got to 
show Wollmeyer you ’re in earnest.” 

“ The wife has more influence than you think, Olga ; 
she is a clever, tactful woman.” 

“ Well, in that case your old means will help you. 
Bring up your bugaboo — he ’s terribly afraid of it. 
Only don’t hesitate ! As his son-in-law your position 
will be quite different. Think, if Anneliese were to 
marry some one else — it would be unpleasant in more 
respects than one, not to say disastrous.” 

“ I will not let her !” he cried in a tone that made 
my heart throb furiously. “ Olga — ” 

“ Hush ! Don’t shout like that. There would be a 
fine scandal if anyone were to hear you. Well, do 
what you will, my child,” she added. “ I am not going 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


143 


to mix myself up in it; go on languishing or — use 
severity !” 

“ You might help me with the little thing,” he said 
sulkily. 

“ No !” she answered, shortly. “ I might have un- 
dertaken to do so with a schoolgirl of the usual 
stamp ; give her a few French novels, tell her some 
romantic stories about you, and there you have love ! 
But that black little will-o’-the-wisp looks at one with 
those big, dark eyes of hers as if she were looking into 
one’s very soul ; there is something uncanny about 
those eyes to me. Apart from that, she is inclined to 
be skeptical, and is logical, young as she is ; and, 
moreover, she is conservative from the tips of her toes 
to her curly head. You won’t catch her with the 
prospect of stylish turnouts, ball gowns and visits 
to watering places ! You must find some other way. 
But I find the affair too uninteresting, too wearisome ; 
I am longing for Berlin again. But come now ; cur 
amiable host will be dying with impatience to hear of 
the wedding. I am sure that your gypsy is already 
upstairs.” 

He did not answer. I heard the rustle of a woman’s 
gown, then the door closed and all was still. 

I stood at the turn of the stairs, like one stunned, 
leaning my head against the wall and supporting my- 
self with both hands by the railing. They had been 
talking about me, and I had listened, a thing I de- 
spised as much as lying. And yet I had not gone ; my 
limbs had simply refused to obey me ; my brain had 


144 


FOR another’s wrong. 


lost its volition in those few moments. And now I 
knew — no, I did not know all. What did his threats 
mean ? How was he going- to compel me ? And how 
Wollmeyer ? What hidden thing was it that, if 
brought to life, would be a scandal ? 

If I could only talk with mamma ! 

“ Oh, there you are, gracious Fraulein,” said one of 
the maids, who had come slowly down the stairs. 
“ The gracious Frau wishes you to pour the tea.” 

I found them all in the salon. A small tea-table was 
brought in, with cups and saucers and the silver tea- 
kettle. A number of red-shaded lamps filled the beau- 
tiful room with a cozy, subdued light. Mamma was 
seated in a deep chair ; opposite her, in a full flow of 
conversation, was Frau Sellmann, who had changed 
her costly gown of pale-green brocade for a light 
house-dress. My stepfather stood balancing himself 
on his toes, his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, his 
glasses on his nose, before Otto Brankwitz, whose face 
wore a somewhat sullen expression. 

“ We ’ve all got to die,” he was just remarking philo- 
sophically, and that was all he said about Herr von 
Tollen’s sudden death. “ He was a queer customer,” 
he added, “ as old soldiers who have to live on short 
rations the rest of their lives always are. He snapped 
about him like a vicious old watch-dog, and when he 
didn’t snap he snarled.” 

“ He was an honorable man through and through,” 
said mamma, warmly. “ To me there is something 
elevating in a simple, dutiful life like that ; obedient, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


145 


faithful and contented until death. I am perfectly 
sure that if another war had broken out, the old man 
would have buttoned his military coat over his sunken 
chest, and would have said : ‘ I am here, your majesty. 
What is there for my old limbs to do ?’ ” 

‘‘Yes, mamma,” I cried, “ and that is why our coun- 
try is as great as it is. That is why we have been 
able to rout our enemies.” 

Frau Sellmann smiled. 

“ What a pity it is that you are a girl !” 

“ That is what papa always said,” I answered. 

“ You would certainly have been an officer !” 

“ I don’t know whether I should have become an 
officer by profession, though it is in my blood. But I 
should be something, and that with all my might. It 
must be dreadful for a man to go on living without a 
calling, with nothing to do.” 

“ Are you going to join the ranks of the strong- 
minded ?” 

“ I don’t see why, just because I am a girl, I must 
look on and see others work and toil and struggle — ” 

“ What would you like to do ?” asked the handsome 
woman, smiling, and playing with the ribbons of her 
gown. 

“ Anything that would keep one active ; anything 
that would keep one out of doors so that one could 
feel the fresh air about one’s face ; anything but to 
sit indoors over books ; anything but to be a 
teacher — ” 

“ It is a pity that we haven’t an Amazon corps !’ 


146 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Herr von Brankvvitz interrupted ironically; '‘that 
would suit you. Drilling, field-service, a bivouac now 
and then — in short, defend the fatherland with tongue 
and sword. There would be activity enough for you !” 

Herr Wollmeyer seemed to think this an excellent 
joke, and laughed with unnecessary loudness. 

“ I will tell you something, little daughter,” he cried, 
and let his heavy hand fall on my shoulder. “ Marry a 
landed proprietor ; then you will have fresh air in 
abundance. You can wander through the fields, ex- 
amine the crops ; you can ride, hunt, and you needn’t 
be annoyed by books and ink and learning, if you don’t 
want to !” 

I did not answer immediately, for I had noticed his 
wink at Brankwitz. 

“ I am not going to marry,” I answered shortly. \ 

“ Ah, that ’s what they all say !” he laughed, and 
rubbed his hands. “ And when some one comes along 
— indeed, the first one — who says a word about a ring 
and marriage, they all are ready, every one of them. 
What do you say, Helene ? Does she look as though 
she was going to remain single and give every one the 
mitten? Ha, ha !” 

“ Really, Bernhard,” interrupted mamma, who must 
have been struck by my frigid look, “ she is not think- 
ing of any such thing. Spare her.” 

“ Pshaw ! When a girl is eighteen she must have 
some such thoughts. What do you think, Olga ? Nowa- 
days, when girls are as plenty as huckleberries — think, 
ladies, there are a million more women than men in 


POR another's wrong. 


14^ 


Germany — every girl should be glad when some one 
comes along and — You are not vexed, Olga? Of 
course, there are always exceptions. There are women 
w'ho, in spite of the scarcity of men, always have twenty 
at their feet. I have not forgotten your triumphs. I 
only mean that when an insignificant little person — a 
penniless little girl — has an offer, it would be simply 
madness to say no. Such a thing will not happen — 
will not, Helene ! It cannot !” 

If the penniless little girl is in full possession of 
her senses and knows that she isn’t a piece of goods, 
but a thinking being, it can happen, nevertheless,” I 
answered boldly, “ and has already happened.” 

I ended the skirmishing with these words, victori- 
ously, as I thought ; and the conversation ran in other 
channels until we separated, not over-late, for the 
night. I was glad to be alone at last. 

A few minutes later there was a knock at my door. 

You, mamma ?” I asked, in surprise. 

“ No, I !” cried Wollmeyer’s voice. “ Open the door ; 
I have something to say to you.” 

He entered, plainly much excited. 

Permit me to sit down,” he said, and drew a chair 
up to the table which I had pushed up to the stove, 
that I might write to Cousin Himmel in comfort. A 
pause ensued. Several times he attempted to speak 
and stopped. I leaned back, as far as I could, in the 
arm-chair, so as to increase the distance between us as 
much as possible. What was coming now ? 

“ I have no illusions regarding your — your feeling 


14B 


FOR another’s wrong. 


toward — toward me,” he began, at last. “ Y m do not 
like me, and I — I have really no cause to feel drawn to- 
ward you ; but, in spite of that, I have always felt a 
sincere affection for you since the day that you sat at 
Hannchen’s feet and played with my dead child’s doll.” 

What now ? I wondered, in surprise. 

“ Yes, my dear child, so it is,” he continued. “ I 
have a fatherly affection for you, and you avoid me 
whenever you can and wound me upon every opportu- 
nity ; but there is one point upon which we can agree, 
and that is in our love for your mother. This mother 
is haunted by one thought : what will my daughter’s 
future be ? She knows, as well as you and I know, 
that your health is not of the best ; that you are poor, 
and possess, besides, a disposition that will not qualify 
you to make your own way through life. You are a 
proud little lady, my dear Anneliese. I admit that 
your name has a very fine sound, but one can’t live on 
that ; and, if I judge you rightly, you are not any too 
glad to be dependent upon a man for whom you have 
as little regard as for me.” 

“You are quite right,” I remarked, coolly. 

“ And when one calmly weighs all this, it is next to 
incomprehensible why you should refuse an offer that 
is made from real affection and regard, and which 
ought, in every respect — yes, in every respect, to satisfy 
you. You must not think, Anneliese, that I am trying 
to persuade you. You may believe me or not, but it 
is hard for me to say a word in favor of the man who 
wishes to take you from us, but I consider it to be my 


FOR another’s wrong. 


149 


duty, for I have your happiness in mind, and your 
mother’s wishes decide me. I have told Brankwitz, 
who is in despair, that it is only a little coquetry on 
your part. Y our inherent spirit of contradiction makes 
you coy, and I think that I am not very far from the 
mark.” 

He paused, polished his gold-rimmed eyeglasses, 
and looked at me as though awaiting a reply. But I 
remained silent, and began, rudely enough, to sharpen 
my pencil. 

I now repeat the offer in the name of Otto von 
Brankwitz, and add that it is desirable in every way 
that you accept it. You would live at Damnitz, near 
your mother, and she would at last find in your assured 
future the peace of mind of which. Heaven knows, she 
is in great need.” 

My pencil was sharpened, and I rubbed my fingers 
with a piece of blotting paper that I tore from the 
portfolio. I was inwardly trembling with anxiety, but 
I preserved as calm a face as I could. 

** There is no need of your deciding to-night, Aiine- 
liese,” he added, amiably. “You can tell me day after 
to-morrow, at noon, and I beg of you do not disturb 
your mother with the affair.” 

Still I found no words. I put my hand to my throat ; 
it seemed as if some one were trying to throttle me — 
and still I did not speak. 

“ Well, then, until day after to-morrow at noon.” 

“ How does it interest you — I mean what can you 
care whether I marry Otto Brankwitz or provide for 


150 


5*011 another's wrono. 


myself in some other way, as providing for me seems 
to be the main reason for this marriage, as you your- 
self admit ?” 

“ In — interest me ?” he repeated, startled. “ What 
makes you think of that ? It is solely for your own 
good — to have your future assured. Your mother — ” 

“ Well, I thought it must be of particular interest to 
you to see me provided for in just this way. All the 
better if it is not so ; for it will not be so hard for you 
to thank Herr von Brankwitz in my name and say that 
I persist in my refusal. I shall be able to take care of 
myself, and so well that mamma’s anxieties will soon 
cease, and yours also, Herr Wollmeyer.” 

He suddenly seized my wrist. 

“ Have you any other inclination ?” he asked quickly. 

I felt that I was growing scarlet. 

“I have never thought of such a thing,” I stam- 
mered. But in my mind rose a picture of a tall, hand- 
some man, with earnest eyes ; such a man as a young 
girl surely often pictures to herself, be she ever so sen- 
sible ; a picture that had distressingly little resem- 
blance to the dissipated Brankwitz. 

“ I cannot accept such a groundless refusal,” he said, 
completely dropping his former friendliness. “ This 
is no time for such behavior. As your guardian, I 
have a right to assure your future, and such prospects 
do not present themselves a second time. I tell you 
that this marriage is desirable, and, more than that, it 
is necessary. I leave you to your obstinacy until day 
after to-morrow — until noon, day after to-morrow, do 


FOR another’s wrong. 


151 


you understand ? I shall then expect a ‘ Yes ’ — a short, 
business-like ‘Yes.’ I have no desire to listen to any 
long and child-like discussions. Good-night !” 

When the door closed behind him, I remained sitting 
in my chair like one paralyzed. I had a premonition 
of something sinister — a power that was stronger than 
I — and a tremulous despair came over me. Herr von 
Brankwitz had promptly followed his sister’s advice, 
and this was the result. What should I do ? Could 
they force me to marry him ? But no ! I would cry 
before the very altar : “ I will not ! I will not !” How 
dreadful it all was ! Oh, if Cousin Himmel, at least, 
were only here ! 

It had just struck eleven, when I heard a low rustle 
outside my door, and mamma entered. I was still sit- 
ting where he had left me, my face distorted with 
dread. In the bottom of my heart I was quite as timid, 
quite as weak as other young girls. 

“Why, mamma !” I faltered. 

She looked very pale and tired as she sat before me. 

“ You are still busy ?” she asked. “ Why did you not 
say good night to us ?” 

“ Don’t you know what has happened ?” I wanted to 
cry. But the words died away on my lips, for she 
apparently knew nothing. And why should I say any- 
thing ? Did I wish to cause her even greater anxiety ? 

“ I know,” I stammered ; “but I felt so tired after 
the excitement of the wedding, and, besides, I have 
been going about so much lately.” 

“ We are not accustomed to a gay life, Anneliese.” 


152 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“I wanted to sit perfectly, perfectly still just for 
once, mamma, and not see any one.” 

“ Ah, child, you are so young ! Do enjoy your youth 
while it lasts. It is soon gone, and then — You looked 
so pretty to-day, darling, in your yellow gown, with the 
red anemones in your hair. Olga Sellmann said so, 
too. She also said that she was coming to say good 
night to you, Anneliese. 1 thought I should meet her 
here.” 

“ Good heavens ! Am I never going to be safe from 
these people ?” I murmured. 

“ Anneliese, if you would only be less brusque,” she 
pleaded. Where do you get this ungracious manner ? 
Surely neither from papa nor from me.” 

“ Where do I get it ? I do not know, mamma. I sup- 
pose it is because my tongue is my only weapon.” 

“ That sounds as though you were being constantly 
attacked. Surely no one is doing anything to you^^ 
Anneliese.” 

She rose with a sigh. 

“ Good night, my child ! Get up to-morrow morning 
happier than you go to bed to-night.” 

I went with her into the front room and looked after 
her as she went through the hall and disappeared up 
the winding stairs. She walked along with bowed 
head, as though still mourning over her refractory 
child. 

Olga Sellmann’s high voice sounded across the hall, 
and her fair head appeared in the doorway opposite. 

Are you still awake ? I am coming to see you for 


FOR ANGTHER S WRONG. 


153 


a moment. I want to say good-night to you." She 
disappeared for a second, and then throwing a shawl 
over her elaborate white dressing-gown, she came 
across the hall to me. “ May I come in ?" 

I said nothing, but went slowly back to the other 
room, and she followed me. 

“ Ah, so this is your room ? How cozy — how divinely 
old-fashioned ! My mother-in-law’s house is just like 
this ; very nice to look at, but not for any length of 
time — isn't it so ?" And she paused before papa’s pic- 
ture and held up her lorgnette. 

“ I wish for nothing better,’’ I replied, wondering 
what she could want. She turned and looked at me, 
searching for a likeness to the picture. 

“Not a trace of resemblance,’’ she remarked, shaking 
her befrizzled head, where still glistened the gold dust 
she had sprinkled upon her hair to heighten its reddish 
luster. 

“ I know it,’’ I answered. 

“ But let us sit down for a while,’’ she said, sinking 
into an easy-chair, “ and have a little talk. In this 
favored corner of the earth people go to bed with the 
chickens. I usually don’t begin to wake up until ten 
o’clock. Heavens, what rustics you are here ! What 
a wedding, what toilets — the bride’s mother’s particu- 
larly. And as for the good countess ! The only one 
who had the least bit of elegance about her — present 
company is always excepted, little girl — was the bride. 
She was queenly — really queenly ! But she looked as 
if she were going to be buried instead of married." 


lo4 FOR another’s wrong. 

“ Perhaps she had cause — it was a sort of burial for 
her.” 

“ Ugh,” cried Frau Sellmann, “ how horrible ! That 
sounds like Heine ! What is that thing of his ?” She 
snapped her fingers, but could not recall the name. 
“ It was something or other about a dead love and a 
coffin. But that is all a matter of custom, only it isn’t 
the custom at the present time. If you marry a man 
whom you do not love, it isn't the end of everything by 
any means ! Look at me. I took a husband who was 
nothing to me. The man I loved hadn’t a farthing. 
What was I to do ? I was sensible — I took the rich 
one. The other ? Well ” — she smiled, gazing beyond 
me, — “ we remained good friends. People are very 
tolerant nowadays, and my husband was too.” 

I looked at her uncomprehendingly. I was far too 
guileless to take in the whole meaning of her words, 
but I felt the oppressive, unwholesome atmosphere that 
surrounded this woman’s light talk. 

“ I see that you are tired, Anneliese,” she said, rising 
and coming toward me with smiling face and eyes that 
had a peculiar gleam in their green depths ; “ so good 
night ! It is not such a horrible thing, by any means, 
to be married,” she continued, pinching my ear, “ and 
if you set about it sensibly, it is the only true life. We 
don’t live in the countess’s time, when there was no 
such thing as youthful joy and freedom. No, we aren’t 
like that any longer, and neither are the men — it 
doesn’t do to be miserable, you fascinating, unruly 
little thing ! Good night.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


155 


She pressed a kiss upon my forehead and rustled to- 
wards the door. 

“ Good night !” she called again, and, with a kiss of 
the hand, disappeared. 

I passed my hand slowly over my forehead. 

“ My God !” I said, in a low tone ; and they want 
to drag me into this degradation, and I am to submit ? 
And there is no one — no one here to help me ! And 
if they should succeed ; if my resolution should falter ; 
if I should have to live as this woman does ; if I 
should learn to smile, to think as she does — ” 

I walked the room with a feeling of almost suffocat- 
ing fear, threw back the blinds, and flung open the 
window to let out the heavy, sickening perfume which 
was making me ill. 

Oh, for one heart to whom I could tell all ! Two 
days of respite ? No, I would not give in ; I would not ! 

With the cold air, a calmer mood came over me. I 
closed the window and the blinds, and sought my bed. 




CHAPTER X. 

The next morning I was allowed to sleep. Herr 
Wollmeyer, no doubt, wanted to leave me time for re- 
flection, and renounced the pleasure of my company 
at the breakfast-table. So I slept until mamma 
knocked at my door, about ten o’clock, and asked, anx- 
iously, whether I was not well. When I let her in 
she stared at me. 

“Why, Anneliese, you are ill !” she exclaimed. 

“ Oh, no, mamma, I am quite well. What do you 
want ?’’ 

“ I wanted to see you. What questions you ask !’’ 

“ My dear mamma, I should have come upstairs in 
a few moments and said good morning to you. I am 
going to see the countess later on. Do 5^ou want to go 
with me ?’’ 

“ I don’t know whether I can.’’ 

“ And then I am going to the churchyard, to papa’s 
grave.’’ 

She looked down, sadly, at the floor. 

“ Never mind, mamma ; the living have the first 
claim.’’ 

[156] 


FOR another’s wrong. 


157 


** But why do you go to-day, in the snow, Anne- 
liese ?” 

“ I have a longing to go, and you know that it is 
very easy to get there from auntie’s, for there ’s always 
a path made through the garden.” 

“ Herr von Tollen is dead,” said mamma, after a 
short pause, “ and Lore is back again.” 

“ Poor Lore !” 

She nodded. 

“ Remember me to the countess, Anneliese.” 

While we had been talking I had dressed and hastily 
drunk a cup of tea, and then we went out of the room 
together, she up the stairs, I out of the house. 

There had been a marvelous fall of snow ; the little 
town of Westenberg was robed like a bride, in a glit- 
tering mantle of white. Here and there a sleigh came 
dashing through the streets with a jingling ‘of sleigh- 
bells, forcing me to take refuge on the narrow side- 
walks ; in the gutters, the boys were sliding on their 
wooden shoes, and the snow grated under the heavy 
carts. Every little gable, every little turret wore a 
dainty peaked cap, and the eaves were adorned with a 
sparkling fringe of ice. The breath of Christmas-tide 
hung over all ; it reminded me of those far-off happy 
days when papa and I had skated up the silent little 
river, even as far as Hannover. Oh, those happy 
times ! And now ? 

I forgot all about going to the countess ; I sought 
the churchyard immediately. Only one person seemed 
to have gone there that day. The broad central 


158 


FOR another’s wrong. 


avenue had been cleared of snow in the early morning, 
but there had been a light fall since then, and foot- 
prints were clearly visible, the footprints of a man who 
wore shoes of a fine make. It could not have been the 
gravedigger, who wore huge, hobnailed boots ; per- 
haps it was one of the Von Tollens, who had been 
selecting the spot for the grave. The thought of meet- 
ing any one — it must be one of the sons — was very dis- 
agreeable to me ; it is always difficult for me to speak 
words of condolence, even when my heart is full to 
bursting. Not a word will pass my lips. I turned 
aside and walked through the deep snow between the 
close-lying graves, across to papa’s resting-place. I 
had brought nothing but a branch of holly, with its 
red berries ; this I laid upon the snow-covered wooden 
frame which protected the marble stone against the 
ravages of winter. I shook the weight of snow from 
the cypress branches ; amidst these still, dead, wintry 
surroundings I felt more desolate than ever. 

I let my eyes wander across the many graves to the 
countess’s garden, where the pretty little house stood 
so cozily in the shelter of the two tall lindens. 

“ I must go over there,” I said, half aloud, and 
started on my way, after stooping down to free an ivy 
tendril from the snow. I had to pass Hannchen’s 
grave, and here I saw the same footprints, and some 
one was standing before the mound — a man — appar- 
ently a young man. His back was turned to me. He 
was resting one foot on the railing and looking intently 
across to the church. I hesitated a moment, wonder- 


FOR another’s wrong. 


159 


ing* how I could avoid the stranger, when he turned 
shortly, and we stood facing each other in the narrow 
path. 

“ Pardon me !” he said, stepping back and raising 
his hat. 

For some seconds we looked at each other. Before 
me was a handsome young face framed in a brown 
beard, and a pair of bright eyes examined me, at first 
indifferently, then with a gleam of friendliness. 

“ It is a little narrow here,” he said. “ I hope that 
you can get by, mein Fraulein. But first permit me to 
ask one question. Who lies under the mound before 
which I was standing a moment ago ?” And he pointed 
back to Hannchen’s grave. 

“ Frau Councilor Wollmeyer,” I replied. 

“ Thank you a thousand times !” he said, with the 
expression of one who finds confirmed what he has 
wished to hear. 

Again there was a pause. I involuntarily took in 
every detail of his appearance — the travelling cloak of 
gray stuff, the hat of the same color, the leather bag 
slung over his shoulder and the dogskin gloves. 

He again lifted his hat from his glossy brown 
hair. 

“ Good day, mem Fraulein,” I heard him say. 

I nodded without speaking, and followed him with 
my eyes as long as he was to be seen in the avenue. 
All at once a thought flashed over me. 

“ It is Robert Nordmann !” I cried. “ Robert Nord- 
mann ; Cousin Himmel’s Robert!” And I started to run 


160 


FOR another’s wrong. 


after him. Suddenly a hot shame seized me. What 
was Robert Nordmann to me ? 

I walked on slowly. How absurd ! Why should 
Robert Nordmann have come here ? Why should I 
suppose such a thing simply because a strange man 
had happened to pause before Hannchen’s grave ! 
My imagination had played me another trick. 

“ Annelieschen !” Cousin Himmel would have said, 
with a shake of her head. 

“ Oh, cousin ! cousin ! if you were only here !” I 
moaned. 

And, with a double weight of sorrow at my heart, I 
unlatched the gate into the countess’s garden, and en- 
tered the house with such a downcast expression of 
countenance that even old Josephine noticed it. 

‘‘You won’t be good compan)^ for the countess to- 
day, Fraulein von Sternberg.” 

I ventured to give a timid knock, and the loud, angry 
“ Come in !” boded me no good. The old lady had 
muffled herself up in a thick shawl, and looked as sav- 
age as a bulldog. 

“ Good morning, auntie,” I said in a subdued voice. 

“ Morning ! You can go alone to the next wedding, 
my chicken. I ’ll have nothing more to do with wed- 
dings, even though it were yours, Anneliese. The way 
they are managed nowadays !” 

“ Have you taken cold, auntie ?” I faltered. 

“ Taken cold ? I never take cold. I ’m disgusted. 
I have gotten a bilious attack and — Well, it can’t be 
helped. Oh, you people of to-day — you people of to- 


FOR another's wrong. 


161 


day ! I have a bone to pick with you, too !” she ex- 
claimed suddenly. “ That creature who calls himself 
Brankwitz ought to have had his ears boxed for the 
way he approached you. The fellow looks like a per- 
fect idiot.” 

“ Oh, auntie, do listen to me !” I begged. 

“ I will hear nothing. I will only say to you that if 
your mother adds still a second folly to her first, and 
allows this scarecrow, this — well, I ’ll not say what I 
think — to snap up her daughter, I shall have nothing 
more to do with her. Tell her that. With all due re- 
spect to Herr Wollmeyer, his nephew is a — ” 

Here she was seized with a fit of coughing. 

“Auntie, do let me me tell you !” 

“ No !” she thundered ; “ I will not listen !” 

“ But you must help me !” I cried, even more loudly 
than she. “ They want to make me accept him, and I 
will not.” 

She grew silent at once. 

“ Ah, indeed ?” she said, at last. “ They want to 
make you, and you will not. Who wants to make you ? 
Surely not Lene ?” 

“ My mother knows nothing of it,” I sobbed. “ She 
must not know it, either, because it will excite her, 
Wollmeyer told me. He demands my answer day 
after to-morrow noon. There must be no refusal, he 
said, auntie.” 

“ Oh, nonsense !” she replied. “ He only said that 
to frighten you.” 

I did not answer, and struggled with myself as to 


m 


FOR another’s wrong. 


whether I should tell her of the conversation I had 
overheard, but the vague feeling that I might be un- 
earthing something terrible, the scandal that had been 
spoken of, kept me from it ; so I only stammered : 

“ He said so, auntie, and I am afraid of him. If I 
could only talk with mamma, mamma would side with 
me ; she could not do anything else.” 

‘‘ It seems to me very strange that Lene should 
know nothing of it,” she grumbled. “ No mother 
likes to have a son-in-law suddenly thrust upon her ; 
she wants to have something to say about it.” 

Auntie suddenly threw off her shawl. 

“ I can't argue with him,” she cried ; “ he is a town 
councilor, and they can always talk us women to 
death ; but he shall not get his way, Anneliese. Now, 
child, you must tell nie everything. I must under- 
stand all about it, for I consider it a great misfortune. 
How did it happen ? Out with it.” 

She sat bolt upright, with the air of an examining 
magistrate. 

“ Has Brankwitz already declared himself to you ?” 

Yes, auntie, on that drive the other day. And then 
he began again last evening, after the wedding ban- 
quet.” 

She looked straight before her. 

Well, think of the chicken !” she said reflectively 
as though she was trying to recall whether anything 
similar had ever happened to her. “ It is your own 
fault,” she continued. “ It is all the fault of the women 
when the men get impudent and venture to babble 


FOR another’s wrong. 


163 


about love — always, I tell you. No one ever ventured 
to do anything of the kind with me. I swear to that.” 

I glanced up at her through my tears — at the large, 
plain woman, who was yet so dear to me — and my 
glance rested finally on the clenched masculine hand 
she had laid on the table. Yes, there was something 
about auntie that commanded respect. 

“ Why do you look at me so through your crocodile 
tears, with that impish face of yours, you little wretch ?” 
she scolded. “ You probably think that it is a case of 
sour grapes ? Listen. I could tell you stories. More 
than one would have been glad to woo the tall countess. 
But that is ancient history, like myself. I am now talk- 
ing about you. It is all your fault, Anneli'ese. And 
now some one has got to get you out of your scrape. 
If I only knew how !” She passed her hand over her 
forehead. “ You must simply say no !” she decided at 
last. 

** I have done so already, and I shall do so again, 
auntie. If you — ” 

“ If you can’t think of anything better, you were 
going to say. Very kind of you. But I guarantee, 
chicken, that if you two act together, you and Lene, 
Wollmeyer can accomplish nothing — absolutely noth- 
ing. You don’t know the power that we women can 
exercise through passive resistance. I tell you Napo- 
leon himself would not have come off victor with me — 
Napoleon the First, I mean. The Third is a brilliant 
example of my assertion, for his Eugenie can twist 
him around her little finger.” 


164 


FOR another's wrong. 


“ Auntie/’ I said, sadly, “ you don’t know how mamma 
has changed.” 

“ But not in her love for you. Her mother’s heart 
speaks here. Don’t lose courage, child.” 

** And if you are mistaken, auntie, if she also should 
wish it — what would you do in my place ?” 

“ Run away,” she said quickly. ‘‘ That is,” she cor- 
rected herself, purple with vexation — “ don’t look as 
though I had shown you a way out. Miss Impudence — 
what I mean is, wouldn’t you like to go away for 
awhile, possibly to Hamburg, where I wanted to send 
you when Lene was engaged ? How would that do ? 
I will speak with Lene, and with Wollmeyer, too ; you 
are too young to be married. I shall meet your mother 
at the superintendent’s to-night ; I will bring her to 
her senses. Perhaps Brankwitz and his questionable 
sister will be there, too. Listen, chicken. Don’t have 
anything to do with her. She looks dangerous. You 
don’t understand ; but I know Berlin. I ’ll do what I 
can, little girl. Keep up your courage. You can go 
now. I want to make myself a fresh camomile poul- 
tice, so that I can go to poor Frau Tollen this afternoon 
and to the whist club this evening. I must not leave 
them in the lurch. They can play with one dummy, 
perhaps, but the postmaster will be absent, and no 
one here can play with two, for that needs great skill.” 

I went away with my head in a whirl. 

Run away,” she had said. If nothing was of any 
avail, not even my persistent refusals, if mamma, too, 
should forsake me, then — My mind was now at rest. 



CHAPTER XL ' 

When I reached home, I found a letter from Cousin 
Himmel ; a big, thick letter, which contained her 
bank-book, and the request to draw a hundred marks 
and send them to her. It was a dear, old, badly writ- 
ten letter, just like Cousin Himmel, and all its errors 
of composition were forgotten in the love and fidelity 
expressed in every line : 

Dearest and Most Honored Fraulein Anneliese: 

‘Hf you will be so good as to draw out a hundred marks and 
send them by mail to me ; address Dorothea Himmel, Langen- 
walde, near Queersleben, care of Herr Hiibner. I should be 
very grateful if you would also write whether you are well, and 
how everything else is going, and whether the gracious Frau 
Mamma has not too much trouble with the affairs ofthe kitchen and 
whether the new cook is satisfactory. I am so anxious about you, 
otherwise I am well. I am always wishing that Fraulein Anneliese 
were here, it is so beautiful and peaceful. I could not live at the mill, 
because the tenant needed so much room for his large family, so 
I found accommodations in the castle. The manager’s wife 
boards me very cheaply. I am always so sad about Christmas 
time, this year more than ever. I have altogether too little to 
do, nothing but spin; and my thoughts go on spinning too, until 
the inside of my head seems to go round like a wheel. 

[■65] 


166 


FOR another’s wrong. 


^^When May comes, Fraulein Anneliese ought to be here; 
but it is also beautiful now — such beautiful sleighing, you would 
surely like it. Good-by, Fraulein Anneliese. As surely as there 
is a heaven above us, so surely you have until death the love of 
your old cousin, Dorothea Himmel. 

“ P. S . — If you will not take it amiss — if you should ever be in 
want of money, then just quietly draw out what there is in this 
book; no one can know. I don’t need much, only a little bit be- 
fore Christmas. Robert Nordmann will have all there is left, but 
who knows whether he is still alive !” 

Dear, old Cousin Himmel ! I was still sitting with 
the letter in my hand, when the housemaid appeared 
and said that my stepfather had sent to inquire 
whether I wished to dine with the family or in my 
own room. 

“ In my own room,” I replied. And I wondered, as 
I sat there alone, whether it was delicacy of feeling or 
fear of me that prompted him to leave me to myself. 

But what could have been said before mamma ? She 
came downstairs after dinner, very pale and excited. I 
longed to throw my arms around her neck and tell her 
everything, but close behind was Olga Sellmann, who 
seated herself on the window seat and began to talk a 
stream of nonsense, called me “little obstinate,” 
“ hermit ” and the like, and acted as though this retire- 
ment was all a caprice on my part. She did not stir, 
although mamma was apparently on thorns, and I 
made it very evident that there was one too many in 
the room. 

The cook called mamma away with the question 
whether she should put a pdt^ de foie gras or a pastry 


FOR another's wrong. 


167 


of fieldfares into the hamper that was to be sent to 
the Frau Superintendent. 

Herr Wollmeyer’s pampered palate saw to it that it 
should find something to its taste even at the table of 
less wealthy acquaintances, and it was not to be feared 
that the hamper would be sent back from the superin- 
tendent’s, as had once happened at the countess’s. The 
much-harassed superintendent’s wife always welcomed 
the consignment that took a burden from her and her 
household purse. 

“ Are you going with us this evening, Anneliese ? 
You will, will you not ?” asked mamma, as she left the 
room. 

“ No,” I said ; for I did not want to be in the count- 
ess’s way in case she wished to carry out her intention 
of bringing Herr Wollmeyer to his senses. 

“ Then perhaps you will come with us ?” asked Frau 
Sellmann. “ Otto and I want to go to the theatre for a 
lark. I have never yet seen a travelling company like 
those that are described so capitally in novels. I want 
to laugh. Won’t you come with us ?” 

There will be nothing to laugh at,” I answered. I 
had read on the street corner that morning the an- 
nouncement of the opening of the Westenberg theatre 
“ ‘ Don Carlos ’ is to be given.” 

“ As if that were not the very thing to laugh at,” she 
said. “ Think how Eboli will be represented !” 

“ No, I thank you,” I said. “ I have a headache, and 
will stay at home.” 

All at once she was standing close beside me. She 


FOR another’s wrong. 


3 68 

had a red Russian-leather case in her hand, and press- 
ing the spring, she held out something flashing and 
sparkling before my eyes. 

“ Isn’t it charming ?” she asked. It was a bracelet 
richly set with brilliants. In the centre, and also of 
brilliants, was our family crest — a claw which held a 
ball in its talons. The ball was a large pearl. “ Well ?” 
she demanded. 

“ It is very pretty, but mamma does not care for 
such things,” I replied, thinking it was a Christmas 
gift of Wollmeyer’s for my mother. 

“ That has nothing to do with this,” she answered 
lightly. “ This is to be a gift from my brother.” And 
she kept her eyes fixed on the flashing stones. 

I turned away with a shrug of my shoulders. How 
stupid and ill-bred ! They counted upon my being 
propitiated by the attention of having my coat-of-arms 
set in brilliants. 

“ Charming taste !” she said, and dropped the box 
into her pocket again. 

I had seated myself before the stove, meanwhile, 
and stirred the glowing coals, a favorite occupation of 
mine, but performed to-day in a purely mechanical 
fashion, for my thoughts had made a wonderful diver- 
gence ; they had turned upon something that moved 
me deeply and unpleasantly. I was wondering if the 
stranger I had seen in the churchyard belonged to the 
company that was that day to open the Temple of the 
Muses. I must know for a certainty. 

“ I will go with you,” I said, suddenly, to Olga Sell- 


FOR another's wrong. 


169 


mann ; ^‘that is, I will see about getting a seat. You 
need not be surprised if you see me there. I will go 
with my old French teacher ; mamma will be quite 
willing.” 

Frau Sellmann smiled oddly. 

1 have already bought a ticket for you, Anneliese. 
Surely, you will not let us go alone ?” 

“ I have changed my mind again ; I will not go,” I 
stammered, crimson with anger. 

Upon the round, laughing face there was too plainly 
written, triumph, triumph ; she thought she had won 
through her bracelet. 

I have letters to write,” I added, shortly, and went 
over to the desk. She smiled again, confident of vic- 
tory. 

“ I won’t disturb you,” she lisped, and swept out of 
the room, as though I were a fish which had swallowed 
the bait, and which, out of cruel compassion, she 
wished to let enjoy its natural element a little longer. 

How weak and contemptible these people must 
think me ! 

As soon as it grew dusk, I went to get the money 
for Cousin Himmel. I was much more composed on 
the whole, for I had unbounded faith in the countess’s 
power ; and, although I was somewhat uncertain as to 
mamma ; although I had to confess to myself that she 
would do what was almost superhuman, from a sense 
of duty toward her new husband, surely she would not 
force me into a marriage against my will. She was 
my mother, after all ; I, her only child, her all, as she 


170 


FOR another’s wrong. 


had told me a thousand times ; and, if a struggle was 
before' me, I should not have to struggle alone. 

The official at the town-hall received me with all 
due respect, and even wished to wait upon me first, 
although a number of people were waiting with their 
books. Right before me stood a short, plump woman, 
who was moving impatiently from one foot to the 
other, but drew back respectfully when she saw me. 

I will take my turn,” I said to the official. “ I have 
plenty of time.” 

I knew the little woman who came back with me to 
await her turn likewise. She was the wife of the 
gravedigger of St. Mary’s. 

“ Good day, dear Fraulein,” she said, confidentially. 
“ You were at the graveyard early this morning.” 

“ Yes, Frau Sietmann,” I answered, and suddenly the 
thought of the stranger came to me again ; and pre- 
tending to ask out of mere curiosity, a thing I despise, 
I went on : “ There was some one else at the church- 
yard to-day, Frau Sietmann — a tall, young man, a 
stranger ; perhaps you know him ? He was standing 
before Frau Wollmeyer’s grave.” 

The round face before me broadened into a smile — 
a broad, humorous smile that made her look strange 
and unnatural. In her capacity of gravedigger’s wife, 
and a woman who laid out the dead, I had never seen 
her with anything but the suitable facial expression. 

“ Why in the world are you laughing ?” I demanded. 

“ Ach^ don’t be angry, dear Fraulein ; it is only be- 
cause the strange gentleman asked just the same thing 


FOR ANOTHER'S WRONG. 


in 


about you. I was standing before our little house, 
washing the windows — one must have things a bit 
tidy, you know — day after to-morrow Herr Major von 
Tollen is to be buried, and there ’ll be a great many 
grand people there — when the stranger came up the 
middle avenue, but walked past me. Well, thought I, 
he might have said ‘ Good-day,’ he must know that I 
belong here. Just then he turned and came straight 
back to me. ‘ Can you tell me, my good woman, who 
the young lady was back there in the churchyard ?' 
‘ How can I tell ?’ I said. ‘A great many ladies come 
here. What does she look like ?’ Then said he : 
‘Small, brunette,’ — that means dark, I suppose — ‘her 
eyes were larger than one often sees, and her curly 
hair peeped out in all directions from under her fur 
cap.’ ‘ That might be Fraulein von Tollen ; Kathe, 
her name is,’ said I, ‘ but she wouldn’t be coming to 
the churchyard to-day, poor thing !’ And then I 
thought of you, Fraulein. ‘ Ah, wait a bit, mein Herr,’ 
said I, ‘ that must have been Sternberg’s Anneliese !’ 
And so it was ; you just said yourself that it was you. 
‘ Sternberg’s Anneliese !’ he said after me, as though 
he was thinking of something. Then said I : ‘ Why, 

yes, she came to visit her father’s grave ; she comes in 
all sorts of weather and looks after his resting-place, 
and her mother, she took Herr Wollmeyer for her sec- 
ond husband.’ He took out his pocketbook and handed 
me a fifty-mark note — fifty marks, Fraulein Anneliese ! 
‘ There,' he said ‘ take good care of the grave, my good 
woman, and thank you for your kind information,’ 


FOR another’s wrong. 


And he was gone. ‘ Which grave ?’ I called after him, 
but he did not turn and did not answer. And so I am 
bringing the money to put in the savings bank, for 
such things don’t come to one every day. My con- 
science doesn’t trouble me for taking it. I take care 
of all the graves, rich and poor alike, and the church- 
yard looks like a flower-garden ; every one must admit 
that, dear Fraulein.” 

“ If you please !” called out the official at this point, 
and Frau Sietmann bustled forward with her bank- 
book. 

No, he did not belong to the theatrical company. 
Fifty marks ! A Westenberg actor give away fifty 
marks ! And I smiled as broadly as the gravedigger’s 
wife had smiled before. Robert Nordmann ! The 
name echoed in my heart like the song of the finch in 
springtime. Cousin Himmel’s Robert ! What a joy 
for the old woman ! 

To be sure, this mood was not of long duration, and 
I scolded myself as I walked home in the dusk. How 
could I be so foolish ? The miserable present fell upon 
me again with double force. Mamma’s help seemed 
doubtful and running away impossible, as 1 looked out 
into the falling night. The dread of strange lands, 
which is felt by everyone who has to leave the old 
home and familiar surroundings and go out into an 
uncertain and troubled future, seized me in its iron 
grasp. How was it to end, what was I to do to save 
myself from that hated man ? 

Just then I saw a tall figure coming across the glit- 


FOR another’s wrong. 


173 


tering* snow of the courtyard, and I recognized the 
monstrous bonnet and muff, which would have made a 
dozen of the modern style, and my heart almost stood 
still with terror. The countess, who could not rest at 
the thought of my fate, was coming to tell Wollmeyer 
her opinion of him before they met at the superin- 
tendent’s. I would have liked nothing better than to 
run away and hide myself. What a scene would fol- 
low, if only because I had given the old lady my con- 
fidence ! I walked the room, wringing my hands, while 
she sat upstairs and began her disquisition. 

I felt very much as though I had committed a crime. 
I did not know whether time had stood still, or 
whether hours had gone by, when a door without was 
flung open and a man's rapid steps approached my 
room. I had no light, but I recognized the robust 
figure of my stepfather as the door closed behind him. 

“ Where are you ?” he asked, shortly. 

I rose from the arm-chair by the stove. 

“ Here !” I said, but I could scarcely make my lips 
utter the word. 

“ Go up to your mother ; she wishes to speak to 
you.” 

“ Does mamma know ?” I burst out. 

“ Since you were inconsiderate enough to send the 
countess to her, as your intercessor, she cannot well 
help knowing.” 

“ I did not send the countess ; I only told her because 
I had to tell some one — because — ” 

These excuses are of no avail now ! My poor wife 


174 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


is terribly agitated, and I expect you to do your ut- 
most to calm her. Come and — I beg of you — no resist- 
ance, above all things !" 

I went upstairs ahead of him, my limbs shaking. 
What would mamma do ? Would her mother’s heart 
speak for me, would she save me ? She could not 
wish me to be unhappy, she could not. 

“ She is in her bedroom,” he said, behind me ; and I 
crossed the hall and knocked at the door. As no 
answer came, I turned the knob and went in. He fol- 
lowed at my heels. 

As long as I live I shall never forget mamma’s ap- 
pearance. The room was brightly lighted, and the 
candles in the candelabra on the toilet-table were also 
burning. Mamma had evidently been interrupted 
while dressing. She was walking back and forth ; the 
gown of dark blue silk, over which she had thrown a 
peignoir^ rustled at every motion. Her hair fell 
partly loosened over the white embroidered jacket, 
and the locks about her temples were strangely disor- 
dered, as though she had run her hands through them 
in despair. Her face was terribly altered, ashen ; her 
eyes sunken, and with an absent look in them, and 
there was a peculiarly sharp line running from nose 
to mouth. She did not seem to see me in her restless 
walk. 

“ Helene, here is Anneliese !” my stepfather called, 
loudly. 

“ Mamma !” I said, going up to her. “ Mamma, for 
God’s sake — ” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


175 


She looked at me and raised her hands to her 
temples. 

‘‘ Yes, yes, I consent !” she cried. “It is well ; you 
can go !” 

“ But, mamma !” 1 pleaded, holding out my clasped 
hands to her. 

“ Helene, speak sensibly ; collect yourself !” He 
forced her into a chair. “You think it quite sensi- 
ble, and in accordance with the circumstances, that 
Anneliese should accept Otto von Brankwitz ?” 

She trembled in every limb and looked straight 
before her. 

“ Helene, don’t excite yourself ; end the business ; 
speak !” he commanded, sternly. 

She nodded rapidly, automatically. 

“Yes, yes, yes !” 

The last was a scream. 

“ Dear mamma !” I cried out. “ No, you cannot ; 
you will not !” and I ran to her and fell on my knees 
before her. 

She pushed me away and nodded once more, with- 
out looking at me. “ Yes, it is the only thing that — it 
is a very suitable match, it is — you will come to see 
that it is — ” 

I sprang up. I was incapable of a word. I turned 
toward the door in silence. Had I suspected what a 
frightful martyrdom she was suffering, perhaps I 
would not have gone in this way, so full of passionate 
defiance, so boundlessly unhappy, so firmly convince^ 
that my mother did not love me. 


176 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Anneliese !” My stepfather followed me. “ Come 
in here !” He pushed me by the arm into his study. 
“ You see, how the news that you could think of giving 
up so advantageous a match has shaken your mother. 
She was completely prostrated when the countess came 
down upon her with her violent reproaches. I hope 
that all your useless subterfuges are now at an end.” 

I did not reply. 

“ Well, then, we ’ll settle the matter at once.” 

He went toward the bell. I was beside him with one 
bound and struck his hand aside. 

“ Remember, I have until to-morrow noon to de- 
cide !” 

“ Nonsense !” escaped him. But after a glance at 
my face, he said : “ Well, as far as I am concerned, if 
you are petty enough to insist ; but I beg of you the 
utmost consideration toward my wife. You are not a 
child any longer, and I can therefore tell you that 
there is a prospect of your not remaining your mother’s 
only child, so I must urgently beg for consideration of 
her life, now doubly precious to me.” 

I pressed my hands to my face with terror and 
shame, and went toward the door. 

“ Until to-morrow noon !” he called after me. 

How I got downstairs — how I spent the hours that 
followed — I no longer remember clearly ; but this I 
know, that they were sadder than all the sad hours I 
have ever passed through ; that at one stroke they 
made of the child a sorely tried and resolute woman. 



CHAPTER XII. 

All was quite still upstairs. It mig-ht have been nine 
o’clock when I raised my head and stared wildly into 
the darkness. What a power there was in the close 
intercourse of marriage if it could quench a mother’s 
love ! And it was into this bondage that she wished 
to force me. I was to spend my life in unending con- 
flict with a shallow, conscienceless man. An unending, 
hopeless conflict until life should be spent, for I was 
not so yielding, so easily influenced as mamma. I was, 
as the countess said, a mixture of independence, defi- 
ance and passion. 

“ Run away !” echoed in my mind. What else was 
left me ? 

Standing by the window, I had seen Friedrich hurry 
out ; the doctor arrive and go away again. The car- 
riage had driven up to the door, probably to take Herr 
Wollmeyer to the superintendent’s and Frau Sellmann 
and her brother to the theatre. Mamma was undoubt- 
edly lying quietly in her bed. She had taken her sleep- 
ing draught. She took a dreadful amount of chloral 
nowadays. No one would trouble about me until to- 

[177] 


178 


FOR another’s wrong. 


morrow noon. Then they would come to summon me. 
I should dress myself prettily, and then the farce would 
begin, and — 

I closed my eyes and pictured how that man’s white 
hand, with the thin fingers and the exaggeratedly long 
nails, would seize mine ; how 1 would not have the 
right to push it angrily away ; how he would walk be- 
side me and whisper, “ Anneliese how he could look 
at me with that offensive glance as much as he chose. 

I stepped back from the window and, with trembling 
fingers and beating heart, felt for my portfolio and the 
matches. I wished to write to mamma a good-by let- 
ter. Mamma could spare me ; she would soon hold 
another child in her arms ; she would hold it in her 
arms as she had once held me, in a little photograph 
that always adorned papa’s desk, and that he called his 
Madonna picture, in which I was scarcely recognizable 
amidst the frills and laces, and in which mamma looked 
so bewitchingly lovely, as she bent over and smiled at 
me. And then a furious, jealous rage seized me. I 
took the picture and dashed it to the ground, and then 
I gathered up the bits of glass and felt for the photo- 
graph, which had fallen under the bureau, and when I 
had found it at last, I pressed it to my face and began 
to sob passionately. 

This outbreak brought me to my senses. I was 
going away, and calmness and refiection were the prin- 
cipal things now. I lighted a candle and wrote to the 
countess, for I had reflected that it was quite possible 
that a letter from me to mamma might not reach her. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


m 


“I am going to Cousin Hiinmel ; she will take care of me for 
the present. I have no other plans just now ; and have no time to 
make any. Tell mamma, and tell her also that if she tries to 
force me to marry Herr von Brankwitz I will run away from Cousin 
Himmel too, and where no one will find me. With Cousin Him- 
mel’s help, I will find some means of subsistence, so that I shall 
not be a burden upon Herr Wollmeyer. Dear auntie, I am doing 
what you advised me to do ; I see no other way of escape. One 
thing I implore you to do; let me knowhow mamma takes my 
going, and if she is well. Do not misjudge me and always love 
your Anneliese.” 

I sealed this letter, stamped the envelope, and de- 
cided to mail it at the station, so that the countess 
would get it early the next morning. I rose calmly 
and began to search for my school-bag, for I had 
nothing else in which to pack a few necessary articles. 
I took nothing with me but a few pieces of linen, 
papa’s photograph, a New Testament, in which was 
written in papa’s hand : “ Lord, thy mercy is great 
above the heavens ; and Thy truth reacheth unto the 
clouds.” Never had I been more conscious than now 
of the comfort such words can give. 

I knew that a train left for Magdeburg at half-past 
ten. At Magdeburg I should change for Thuringia, 
and early the next morning I could be with Cousin 
Himmel. Indeed, there was no other refuge for me at 
present, and I felt that she was the only one who could 
protect me. 

I drew on my coat, took my fur muff and cap, hung 
my bag over my arm, and left the house. Judging 
from the boisterous laughter from the servants’ quar- 
ters, I had no need to fear meeting any one in the 


180 


FOR another’s wrong. 


courtyard. Nor did I meet any one there, or all the 
way to the station, at least anyone who knew me ; the 
icy wind kept every one indoors, and people rarely 
went out in the evenings in Westenberg. 

I did not have to change Cousin Himmel’s hundred- 
mark note at the dimly-lighted ticket office, though I 
had to use it later ; my small store of savings was 
sufficient to buy a third-class ticket to Magdeburg. I 
travelled third class, for I did not know when I should 
be able to repay the old woman. A young ticket 
agent, who did not know me, gave me my ticket, and 
I had, fortunately, not long to wait on the windy plat- 
form before the train came thundering along. 

I mounted into the nearly empty ladies’ compart- 
ment. A shrill whistle, a harsh ringing, and the long 
train of carriages slowly got under way. I had 
travelled only once before in all my life, when I was a 
small child, to Cologne, mamma’s home, and the mis- 
givings that seize every person unused to travelling 
came over me with bewildering force. I had a seat 
by the window, and stared into the snowy night into 
which the train was rushing. 

We dashed past the little stations with a furious 
rattle. In the far distance twinkled the lights of the 
snow-bound villages, and I could see the dark lines of 
the pine woods ; then again the endless, immeasurable 
stretches of snow, upon which the smoke from the en- 
gine cast a procession of ghostly figures, and, added to 
that, the whistling of the wind that raced along beside 
the carriages, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


181 


A young girl was asleep in the seat next to mine. A 
happy smile played about her mouth. She held a 
bundle tightly clasped in her arms, but it dropped at 
a sudden movement she made in her sleep. She 
awakened and saw me stoop and replace it ; she thanked 
me pleasantly, and we began to talk. Where was I 
going ? Where had I come from ? She had not seen me 
get in at all. 

I answered briefly that I was going to Thuringia. 

“ Why, then we shall be travelling companions,” she 
exclaimed. “ I am on my way home to sew on my 
wedding clothes. I had a place in Hamburg until 
quite lately, and I am to be married at Christmas. My 
father is the choirmaster in Quersleben.” 

“ I am going to that same neighborhood,” I answered. 

Quersleben is my station. If you are willing, we will 
make the journey together.” 

She nodded, unwrapped a slice of bread and butter, 
and began to eat. 

“ May I offer you some V* she asked. 

Thank you. I shall be very glad to accept ;” and I 
ate the slice of Hamburg black bread with a relish, 
for I had eaten nothing since noon. The bread and the 
kindness both did me good. 

“ One always feels better after eating,” the girl re- 
marked, and offered me a second slice. Unfortunately, 
she now thought she had the right to question me, but 
she soon saw that I did not like it, and contented her- 
self with saying : You are probably going to take a 

place in Langenwalde ; the manager’s wife always has 


183 FOR another's wrong. 

some one with her who wants to learn housekeep- 
ing.” 

As I was silent, she grew silent also ; and then she 
fell asleep again and dreamed of her lover, for she 
smiled in her sleep. The confusion in the Magdeburg 
station, where we had an hour to wait, bewildered me 
somewhat. My resolute companion, however, bought 
my ticket for me, and saw that we had some coffee, 
and at half-past one we started on once more. We 
should be at Quersleben at nine. 

“ I love to see the snow on the mountains,” said the 
girl ; “ it makes it seem so comfortable in the house. 
And my mother is so happy to have me with her for a 
few weeks before I am married. Indeed, I haven’t 
been with her much ; we all leave home as soon as we 
are fourteen, but somehow I couldn’t marry from the 
counter, so to speak, so long as I had a home.” 

I listened to her with burning eyes. 

Your parents are still alive ?” I asked. 

“ No. My father is dead.” 

“ I am so sorry. But your mother ?” 

In my efforts to control my sobs I must have made a 
peculiar sound in my throat, for she went on in dismay: 

“ Dear, dear, you are crying ! But you must not cry. 
My father always said the good Lord always holds an 
extra big umbrella over orphans.” 

I had to laugh at this comparison, and yet I was very 
near to tears. Then the little chatterbox began upon 
her future husband : 

“ Such a good man, and so saving, and how well he 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


183 


understands his business ! No one in the whole Stein- 
strasse has such beautiful rice and such delicious cheese 
as he has, because he understands buying, you see. 
And how well he knows how to treat his customers ! 
All the cooks in the street come to our shop. It 's a 
little small,’^ she added in good Hamburg dialect, “but 
they come just the same. And I know how* to manage 
people, too, and I know whether I am selling coffee 
beans or cotton goods. Business is business, and we 
shall manage to get on and have a house in Blankenese 
or thereabouts in our old age, where we can sit before 
the door and take our ease.*' 

The innocent chatter did me good. Nothing is so 
refreshing when one is in trouble as to see that there 
is still happiness elsewhere in the world. It gives one 
hope of meeting it again. 

The night wore away, and the cold, white winter 
morning found us already on the narrow-guage branch 
road that runs through the mountains. Never in my 
life have I been so cold as in that carriage, with its 
frosted window-panes, in whose frostwork my com- 
panion had breathed two small peep-holes, so that we 
could see the lofty white mountains. 

“ Yes, it is certainly colder here than back there,” 
declared the girl ; “but it isn’t much farther, only two 
stations more. But you haven’t dressed yourself very 
warmly for such a journey, and you are probably going 
still farther by the stage ?” 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ to Langenwalde.” 

“ Oh, I thought so. But you can go that short dis- 


184 


FOR another’s wrong. 


tance in Hiibner’s milk-sledge, it isn’t far. 1 should 
be surprised if Hiibner’s milk-sledge wasn’t there,” she 
added. 

Anneliese von Sternberg in a milk-sledge ! I had to 
smile, but so it came about. As I stood, blue with cold, 
upon the platform of the Quersleben station, which is 
picturesquely surrounded by majestic pines, I saw a 
clumsy sledge, drawn by two enormous horses, and in 
the body of the sledge the tin milk cans, which glit- 
tered like silver. My travelling companion, who had 
been welcomed with tears of joy by a plain-looking 
woman, came running back to me. 

“ Hurry, Fraulein,” she called, I will take you to 
Hiibner’s sledge ; he happens to be here himself, to- 
day, my mother says.” 

The tall, broad-shouldered man was just about to 
remount the rude driver’s seat, when the clear, girlish 
voice called : 

“ Here, Herr Hiibner, here’s a passenger for you ! 
The young lady wants to go to Langenwalde.” 

He turned around in astonishment, and I saw a 
calm, intelligent face framed in a brown beard, in 
which the frost had woven a few premature threads 
of silver. 

“ A lady for Langenwalde ? Well, let her get in ; we 
will get there sooner than the stage. Good day, 
Fraulein.” He turned to my protectress. “Home 
again ? Your mother must be very happy. Good day 
to you, Frau Choirmaster !” 

I was soon seated beside him, and without asking 


FOR another’s wrong. 


185 


whence I had come or whither I was going, he started 
the horses, and we moved on into the winter loveli- 
ness. I had never seen mountains before, or such 
majestic forests ; and, although I was chilled through 
and through, and my eyes were constantly smarting, 
I gazed, fascinated, into that fairy world. 

“ How beautiful, oh, how beautiful !” I exclaimed. 

“Yes, it’s beautiful here, even in winter,” he 
agreed. “ It 's because the pine woods are always 
green. But aren't you cold ?” he went on, and he felt 
behind him and pulled out the horse-blankets, which 
were still warm, and I let myself be muffled in the 
coarse wrapping with their acrid order, and could 
have pressed the man’s hand for his kindness. On 
and on we went beside the frozen brook, the scenery 
growing more and more grand, the trees ever more 
stately, and the bells on the steaming horses sounding 
like bells of peace. No other sound, far or near, only 
the triple jingle, kling, kling, kling ! A dreadful 
weariness overcame me suddenly, as we slowly began 
to climb the mountains. In vain I tried to master it. 
Kling, kling, kling, jingled the bells in the rarefied 
air. Rousing myself, I saw once more the snow-laden 
trees, heard the bells, felt the gliding of the sleigh, 
and then I knew nothing more. I did not awaken 
until I was suddenly aroused by a violent shaking ; 
some one had seized me by the shoulders. 

“ Dear Lord, Annelieschen ! Why, child — child, wake 
up !” 

As I looked about me with staring eyes, I saw a 


m 


FOR another’s wrong. 


castle-like structure, before the steps of which the 
sledge had halted, and saw people on the steps, saw 
the big man who had brought me, and the woman who 
was standing beside me in the deep snow, and shaking 
me. It was Cousin Himmel. 

“Cousin!" I cried, and tried to jump up ; but my 
limbs seemed paralyzed. 

“ Mein Gott^ Fraulein Anneliese," wailed the old 
woman. “ What made you come in such cold weather ? 
You must be frozen !” 

Then I felt myself lifted in the big man’s arms. 

“ There," he said. “ Into the house now, to thaw 
her out.. The thermometer was down to eighteen de- 
grees early this morning, although the sun was high 
above the mountains." 

He carried me up the stairs as though I had been a 
feather’s weight, past two giggling girls, and a round, 
stout, smiling woman. Cousin Himmel followed us, 
clasping her hands in consternation, and the large, 
comfortable woman called after us that she would see 
to the tea, and Cousin Himmel had better put me to 
bed in the meantime. So I was carried through the 
hall, up the broad staircase, and then a door was 
opened, and I was placed upon my feet, which I could 
scarcely feel for the cold. 

“ Good morning, Fraulein," said Herr Hiibner. “ I 
hope you won’t be any the worse for your cold drive. 
I had no idea that you were coming to see our Cousin 
Himmel, though, to be sure, I couldn’t have done any- 
thing more than bring you. Don’t get too near the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


187 


stove at first,” he cautioned me, and with that he went 
away. 

And then I was taken charge of by a pair of old but 
such gentle hands ; they forced me upon the sofa and 
drew off my boots from my cold feet and put on in 
their place a pair of big felt slippers, so soft and warm ! 
And as I leaned back drowsily on the sofa, a pillow 
was placed under my head and my cloak removed, 
then I sipped some warm, strong broth, and heard 
Cousin Himmel’s anxious voice and the soothing tones 
of another : 

“ Cold makes a body tired, cousin, and she has been 
travelling all night.” 

“ But how she has changed !” went on Cousin Him- 
mel. “ It is no longer the round, childish face.” 

“ One can’t be a child always. Let her sleep, cousin, 
that ’s the best thing for her.” 

And I did sleep. I did not wake until it was quite 
dark, and how comfortable the awakening was ! The 
firelight from the stove played upon the white boards 
and crossbeams of dark wood ; tall, snow-laden firs 
looked in at the windows ; on the whitewashed wall an 
old-fashioned clock ticked above the chest of drawers, 
with its shining brass knobs, and Cousin Himmel sat 
in an arm-chair by the stove, spinning. I did not stir, 
but let the charm of it possess me completely. At 
last she came tiptoing across the room, and bent over 
me to see if I were asleep. 

“ Cousin Himmel,” I said, I have run away. You 
told me that I might come, and I must tell you at once 


188 


FOR another’s wrong. 


that I have borrowed from you — twenty marks. I bring 
you only eighty, but you see I couldn’t ask any one for 
money for this journey.” 

“ I know it already. I know all, Anneliese. I don’t 
mind anything if you only won’t get ill.” 

“ No, indeed. But how do you know — ” 

“A telegram has come.” 

“ I will not go back. Cousin Himmel !” I cried, sitting 
up with a start. 

“ No, no,” the old woman answered, soothingly. 
“ You are to stay here at present, Fraulein Anneliese. 
That is what tho "-elegram says. 

** * My daughter wishes to remain in Langenwalde for a time. 
Make her visit as pleasant as possible. Trunks follow. 

“ ‘ WOLLMEYER.’ ” 

I stared speechlessly at Cousin Himmel’s face, now 
indistinct in the twilight. What did he remain ? 
Should 1 remain or not ? 

“ Cousin Himmel,” I said at last, “ this will not do ; 
I must go away ; I cannot stay here. Don’t you know 
of some place in the wide world where I shall never 
have to see Herr Wollmeyer again ? I came here, but 
only to ask your advice, and for temporary help.” 

“What in the name of Heaven has happened?” she 
asked, and then all the suffering of the past few days 
burst from my lips like a torrent. She did not inter- 
rupt me. She stood before me motionless and listened. 

“ I expected it, Anneliese,” was all she said, when I 
had finished. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


189 


“ What am I to do, cousin ?” 

*• Stay quietly here for the present, without any un- 
easiness or fear. Nothing will happen to you here,” 
she said, simply. “ We shall see what follows. But 
be quite easy ; he won’t do anything for the present, 
believe me. For your mother’s sake you must not go 
out into the world now. You see that, don't you ?” 

“But, cousin, suppose he comes here with Brank- 
witz ?” 

“ He will not come,” she said decidedly. “ You shall 
stay here, and we won’t talk about the matter. You 
must look very much better first.” 

“ Oh, cousin, I shall never get well if I have to go on 
living in such uncertainty !” 

“ Uncertainty ? Not a bit of it. You think that I 
will help to marry you to that man ? No, Anneliese. 
I would rather ” — she came nearer to me, and there 
was a strange quiver in her voice — “ I would rather do 
something that — that — ” She broke off. “ But that 
won’t be necessary,” she murmured. “ He will think 
better of it.” 

“ You see, cousin,” I went on, “ Brankwitz doesn’t 
love me at all. He only says so. He has some other 
reason for wishing to marry me. He probably thinks 
that I shall inherit all Wollmeyer’s money some day.” 

Cousin Himmel shook her head. 

“ God knows what he thinks, but he has taken a fancy 
to you. If he had wanted to marry for money, he 
could have done so long ago, for there are plenty of 
girls who would pay a high price for his ‘ von.’ ” 


190 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Oh, cousin !” I whispered, in much agitation. 

What is it ?” 

“ Cousin, I must tell yon something more. I would 
not have run away. But, yes, you can surely tell me 
more about it. What are Wollmeyer’s relations with 
Herr von Brankwitz ?” 

The old woman sighed. 

“ Why, Fraulein Anneliese 

I overheard Frau Sellmann say that her brother 
would only have to threaten him with — I don’t know 
what with — and my stepfather would see that I con- 
sented.” 

She had grown pale as death, and her lips were 
pressed tightly together. 

** Cousin, if there is anything — anything terrible — 
tell me !” 

It is nothing,” she answered hoarsely. 

“Yes, yes ! I am not a child now ! Tell me !” 

“ No, Anneliese. I cannot ; and if I could, I would 
not betray it. There are things — things — oh, God pre- 
serve you and all other Christian people from them !” 

“Are Wollmeyer and Brankwitz related ?” 

“ No, no ! But, dear Fraulein Anneliese, don’t ques- 
tion me any more. A burden is heavy enough when 
only one bears it, but if it is borne by more than one 
it grows heavier and heavier, and what only troubles 
one, two will sink under ; so it is here. Let me go 
on bearing it alone, dear child. You are still far too 
young ; you would not understand it in the least. 
Don’t torment me, Anneliese !” 


rOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


191 


Cousin, is it anything terrible — anything that can 
force me to marry that dreadful man ?” 

“ No, no ; you shall not suffer for another’s wrong,” 
she said. “ I am still here, Anneliese, and, as long as 
I live, you shall not be the price. Ach ! what am I 
saying ? It is nothing at all ; indeed, it is not. Don’t be 
troubled. You are as safe here as in Abraham’s bogom!” 

“Cousin, I don’t believe you !” 

“You can believe me. The Brankwitzes must have 
meant old money troubles ; such things always happen 
between business men. Brankwitz’s father once owned 
the mill, at the time that Wollmeyer had to sell out, 
and then Wollmeyer bought it back and there 
was some question about each other’s rights, and I 
don’t know what else. Come, Anneliese, you must 
eat ; you must be hungry ?” and she stroked my 
tangled hair from my forehead, talked on all possible 
subjects, turned the lamp up higher, and brought me 
such a dainty supper that it would have given a zest 
to the most sated appetite ; and how fragrant was the 
tea in the old pewter teapot, that was polished till it 
shone like silver. Then she put me to bed like a little 
child ; the bed was a canopy bed, and stood in the ad- 
joining room, a large, three-windowed room, with old- 
fashioned pine furniture, and wainscoted ceiling, and 
the linen smelt of lavender, and a night-lamp was 
burning so that I should not be afraid, and among 
the snowy pillows was a gigantic copper hot-water 
bottle, which I promptly threw out, and a little bell 
beside the bed, to summon Cousin Himmel. 


192 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Cousin Himmel,” I said, heavy with sleep, “ how 
can anyone go to the city and leave this beautiful 
country and this comfortable old house ? I can quite 
understand now that Frau Hannchen never ceased 
longing- for it.” 

“ There are many things that cause people to move,” 
she answered. And she suddenly pretended to have 
something to do in the next room, for fear I would 
ask more questions. 

“ Cousin,” I called after a while, rousing from my 
first doze, cousin, come quickly ; I have something 
to tell you !” She came in her soft slippers. 

“ Go the sleep, dear Annelieschen,” she begged. 

No, cousin. Just think, I was at the churchyard, 
yesterday, and some one was standing by Hannchen’s 
grave, a tall, handsome young man, and it seemed to 
me that he looked like the photograph of Robert Nord- 
mann.” 

She did not answer. She held her breath, and I felt 
her hand tremble on mine. 

‘‘ And I thought it might, perhaps, be your Robert,” 
I went on, hesitatingly. 

She remained silent for a long time, then she said : 

“ Because some one happened to be standing by her 
grave ? Ah, Annelieschen, I wish you hadn’t told me. 
I can’t help imagining it now, and it can never, never 
be true !” She left me, and I heard her crying in the 
next room and murmuring to herself. 

Suddenly her light was put out, all grew still, and I 
fell asleep. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

My awakening on the following morning was not 
altogether untroubled. I had dreamed dreadful things 
about mamma. She had become ill and had died, and, 
on her deathbed, had told me that it was my fault ; 
and as I remembered the foolish old superstition, that 
whatever one dreams the first night in a strange place 
is certain to come true, I was oppressed by the weight 
of this fear also, and could think of nothing but mam- 
ma’s white, distorted face. My imagination pictured 
impossible situations. I reviewed mamma’s whole 
conduct. I told Cousin Himmel how strangely agi- 
tated she had been, and how, in contradiction to her 
whole character, it was for her to force me into a mar- 
riage. She had always said to me, and to others also, 
that she would never interfere, either one way or the 
other, in a love affair, even where her own child was 
concerned ; that was something that each must decide 
for himself. Cousin Himmel, too, was much cast down, 
and scarcely answered me. But as the day went by, 
she strove to rouse me from my despondency by taking 
me over the old castle. As most of the rooms were 

[193] 



194 


FOR another’s wrong. 


unfurnished, however, and the cold in the rooms, unin- 
habited for years, was intense, she soon desisted. I 
went downstairs with her after that to say ** How do 
you do?” to Frau Hiibner — the Hubners occupied the 
left wing on the ground floor — and inspected the six- 
month-old baby ; the other children were at school, 
and one was in the gymnasium at Gotha. Cousin Him- 
mel and Frau Hiibner showed me the dairy, the fruit 
loft and the flax-room ; they even enticed me into the 
cow-house, and the old woman’s eyes grew moist when, 
in answer to her question, “ How I liked the place ?” I 
answered ; It is lovely, cousin ; it it very lovely 
here.” 

‘‘ And look over there, Fraulein Anneliese, over 
across the brook ; that large building is the mill, and 
there over the top of the linden, where you see the 
two windows in the gable, is where I spent my youth.” 

We were standing at the front door of the manor- 
house, as it was called, and I let my eyes wander over 
the landscape. It was such a peaceful winter scene ; 
the peaked, snow-covered, gable roof of the mill, shel- 
tered by the towering linden, the frozen brook, and, to 
give life to the picture, the sledge laden with white 
bags, and drawn by two powerful horses. Behind rose 
the mountains, and at one side stretched the valley, 
dotted with villages, from whose chimneys the blue 
smoke curled upward. The little church lay higher 
up the mountain, and looked down, like a watchful 
mother, upon the houses and huts below. 

“ That is Langenwalde,” said Cousin Himmel, and 


'FOR another’s wrong. 


195 


the large building not far from the church is the 
schoolhouse. How often I used to go there when the 
Nordmanns lived there ; it ’s scarcely twenty-five 
minutes from here. But it 's a long time ago,” she 
sighed. “ How often the dear boy used to come running 
along the high road, and never went home without a ^ 
groschai or a bit of cake from his godmother. I held 
him at the font, you know, Anneliese. Then that 
dreadful day when he came running to me, his eyes 
filled with terror, and crying : ‘ Cousin, mother — you 
must come to mother ! She is sick !’ And as I en- 
tered the house, all out of breath, holding the child by 
the hand, I found her unconscious. She never spoke 
again. It was a stroke of apoplexy, and in three days 
she was dead. After that things went from bad to 
worse.” 

“ Yes, cousin, I know ; the business troubles that 
you spoke of yesterday, and the Brankwitzes were 
mixed up in them.” 

Yes, Brankwitz bought the mill. The estate here 
already belonged to him, Anneliese,” she said, shortly. 

“ Before that a nobleman from Gotha owned it, but he 
seems to have been more of a sportsman than a farmer, 
and so the place ran down. It was to be had for a song. 
Well, when the Wollmeyers grew rich again, they 
bought back the mill and the estate besides — that 's all. 
And you knew all that before.” 

I was silent. I knew that it was not all, but also that 
I should learn nothing more at present. I was cold, 
and wanted to go upstairs. 


196 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Your cold is beginning to show itself,” said Cousin 
Himmel. 

I sat at the window and looked out at the snowy 
landscape, the village, and the deserted highroad, and 
watched the last rays of the sun as they left the moun- 
tain tops. Cousin Himmel spun in silence ; she saw 
that it was the best thing to do. 

“Cousin Himmel,” I said at last, “ I can’t bear my 
thoughts any longer. I must do something. I must 
go away !” 

“ Wait until you get letters, and your trunks and 
books come, Fraulein Anneliese,” she said, soothingly. 
“ Frau Hiibner will lend you her piano if yon wish. 
She said she would.” 

I walked up and down the room like a prisoner in his 
cell. Solitude is all very well, but one’s mind must be 
thoroughly at rest. 

“ When does the postman come. Cousin Himmel ?” 

“ At six o’clock in the evening.” 

“ Still two hours !” I sighed. 

Cousin Himmel went out and returned with a tiny 
dachshund, 

“ He is as good company as though he were human,” 
she said. And indeed the little yellow creature was 
so absurdly comical that I passed the two hours pleas- 
antly enough. 

A letter from the countess ! It was posted between 
four and six in the evening, and would, therefore, con- 
tain the latest news concerning the effect of my flight. 
I tore open the envelope and read : 


FOR another’s wrong. 


197 


‘‘My Dear Anneliese:” 

(That sounded very solemn !) 

“ As long as I live, I shall never again meddle in other people’s 
domestic affairs, for it is not pleasant, as you can readily imag- 
ine, to be requested by Herr Wollmeyer not to assist you with 
my advice in future. You have, my dear child, unfortunately, 
followed my advice. You have run away! But, of course, I did 
not mean you to take it the way you did. I wanted you to go to 
Hamburg, as you know, and that would have been quite seemly. 
What was left for me to do? Upon receiving your letter, I went 
to Lene. She was still in bed, and no one had missed you as 
yet ; the housemaid had .been to your door with tea, to be sure, 
but had gone away again, supposing you to be asleep. So I 
found myself in the enviable position of being the first bearer of 
the alarming tidings. I seated myself beside Lene’s bed — your 
stepfather was breakfasting with his guests, I was told — and de- 
livered your message. Lene, who was very uneasy when I ap- 
peared, seemed to be relieved, strange to say, on hearing of your 
clever stroke ; she lay back weakly in the pillows and folded her 
hands. I cannot swear to it, but I think I heard her murmur, 
‘ Thank God I’ But you need not think, my dear, that you have 
done anything clever. Lene was probably only afraid of the 
scene that was inevitable, if you had stayed. I say, also, that you 
were right in the main, but the affair might have been managed 
with greater propriety. But the scene did follow when your step- 
father appeared. He was furious, my child. I have seen a great 
many angry men in my life, but there is a difference; one can 
control oneself even in anger. But there are men who are like 
wild beasts when anything goes wrong, absolutely brutal; they 
trample upon any one who comes in their way, friend or foe. 
Your stepfather believed that your mother had suggested your 
taking refuge with Cousin Himmel. I was sorry for Lene, so I 
hastened to wave the red flag in order to direct his fury towards 
me. ‘You are wrong, Lene is innocent,’ I said briefly. ‘It was 
I who advised Anneliese to go away.’ 

“You know, child, that I am not a coward; but, for your 
mother’s sake, I will pretend not to have heard half of what he 


198 


FOR another’s wrong. 


said; you understand? I sat as unmoved as Bismarck in the 
Reichstag when Bebel is let loose. Remember that it is always 
an advantage to be cool when people are angry. He soon came 
to himself, began to apologize, kissed my hand, talked of undy- 
ing respect for me and his concern for you, as he is your guar- 
dian, and came at last, of his own accord, upon the only proper 
course, to let you remain in your self-chosen asylum for the time 
being. It will be said here that the doctor ordered a change of 
air for you. When Wollmeyer had gone to telegraph Cousin 
Himmel, Lene seized me by my cloak and besought me to beg 
you to do nothing without her knowledge, before she has talked 
with you, herself. I hope that you will not yield to any roman- 
tic desires ; it is very gay out there in the world, my chick, and 
you are the last one to settle down at once. Apart from that, 
you must consider your mother’s health. She will write to you. 
Wollmeyer wished to know the reason for your objection to 
Brankwitz. I only said to him that it was really not so difficult 
to understand; that attraction and repulsion cannot be ex- 
plained ; in short, that you had declared that you did not love 
him. However, he did not seem to see it, for he only shrugged 
his shoulders. So, my dear child, all I now have left to say is, 
that I hope the affair will end happily. At all events, a truce 
has been obtained. 

I shall be very glad to go and see your mother now and then, 
but I cannot conceal from you, my child, that I shall not take 
any further part in this business. One ought not to stir other 
people’s fires, you know. Josephine has just had to make me 
another camomile poultice; gall and bitterness are bad com- 
panions for a heart like mine, and I was seventy-three tw'o 
months ago. My advice to you is, remain true to your feelings ; 
your ideas are right, although you are a madcap. Don’t take 
cold ; it is more like Siberia than anything else up there. I got 
my right ear frozen on a sleighing party in the Thuringian 
mountains. Remember me to Cousin Himmel. She must take 
good care of you. 

** With a good-by embrace, dear Anneliese, I am, 

** Your old friend, 

“Henriette, Countess von D.** 


FOR another’s wrong. 


199 


The letter brought me no comfort. On the contrary. 
The countess meant to have nothing more to do with 
the affair. She fors ok me. But Wollmeyer had not 
abandoned his plans. He had merely postponed them. 
What was there left for me but to gradually prepare 
for a flight into the unknown world ? But in what 
capacity ? Mamma had taken me from my studies, 
which, indeed, my illness had necessitated. I had 
never passed any examinations. And it is so hard to 
be a teacher ! I shudder at the thought still even as 
I did then. I wished to continue my music. Music 
had always been my favorite study. If I had only not 
been kept in such utter ignorance of life ! There was 
not a single soul who could offer me a helping hand. 
Apart from my dear, simple, true-hearted old friend, I 
had no one. 

The days that followed were heavy and troubled. 
My trunks had arrived with my clothes, but my books 
had not been sent, nor had they remembered my music. 
I wrote for both, but received no answer. I was accus- 
tomed to read a great deal. Papa’s library was always 
at my disposal. And I was also fond of playing the 
piano ; and I now missed it all bitterly. Frau Hiibner 
brought me her entire library, a few bound volumes of 
an illustrated paper, and a collection of calendars. 
Cousin Himmel advised me to pay a visit to the par- 
sonage, for there were sure to be books there and 
music, and young girls, too. I found the pastor’s wife 
and her daughters — five or six, I believe — up to their 


200 


FOR another’s wrong. 


ears in sewing, the little ones knitting as for a wager 
and singing “ ist eine Ros' entsprungeny 

A strange feeling came over me in the midst of this 
cozy home circle. I went away, starving for happiness 
and love, sat down on the sofa with my dachshtind^ and 
sobbed with longing for papa. 

Letters came from mamma now and then, very re- 
served and full of set phrases that I had never known 
her to use before. The letters made me think that they 
had to pass Herr Wollmeyer’s inspection before they 
were sent off. From Brankwitz there was not a word ; 
but I knew it was only a temporary cessation of hos- 
tilities. 

Cousin Himmel tried to distract me by asking me 
to perform various little tasks ; but I could not banish 
my gloomy thoughts. I was constantly brooding over 
some means of saving myself. In my trouble how 
could I take any interest in Frau Hiibner’s butter-tubs, 
the new-born calves, the slices of apple that were 
strung on long strings during the evenings and hung in 
garlands before the stove to dry ! The few copies of 
“ Daheim ” which I had borrowed from the parsonage 
were soon read, but I felt no desire to go for others. 
The long solitary walks in the solemn wintry grandeur 
were all that sustained me. Every day for hours I 
scoured the country, with the dachshund at my side. 
Ah, it was so beautiful ; it raised my heart, it gave me 
courage. But then there were the long half days, with 
nothing but the hum of Cousin Himmel’s wheel, the 
endless evenings, and the old woman and I knew not 


FOR another’s wrong. 


201 


what to say to each other ; we each had the same 
trouble, and all our conversation ended in the same 
theme. How would it end ? 

So Christmas approached. Would I receive any 
word from the countess ? I had written her once to 
thank her. No answer had come. But surely she 
would write me at Christmas. Mamma’s letters never 
made any mention of her or of the other Westenbergers. 
I lived in exile, waiting for the blow to fall. 

Christmas Eve came before I had realized it. The 
gymnasium student had come home ; Herr and Frau 
Hubner had gone to meet him, and the horses panted 
before the heavily laden sled. I have never seen so 
many Christmas bundles in one spot before or since. 
The postman had a man to help him, who carried the 
bundles in a wicker-basket on his back, and a string 
of them hung over his own shoulders. I saw all this 
as I was out walking ; I had gone out immediately 
after dinner. Outside in the free air the weight on my 
soul seemed less heavy. 

This time I did not go toward the village, but in the 
opposite direction. I did not wish to see all the prep- 
arations for the great day. What were they to me ! 
There was less to remind me of them here on the high- 
road, in the midst of the dense forests. So I walked 
rapidly forward down the valley. The air was full of 
snow, and a few white flakes came fluttering down. My 
mood grew ever sadder and more hopeless ; my young 
heart fairly cried out with longing. I had nothing, 
nothing in the world ! A prisoner was better oif than 


202 


FOR another’s wrong. 


I was ; he could work for his future freedom. 1 sat 
there, idle. I had no definite object in view. I was 
like a minor whose wishes are not considered because 
they are childish, and to whom the power of judging is 
denied. I did not possess as much as a penny. 

I did not want to ask mamma for money, neither did 
I wish to ask Cousin Himmel. I was not able to buy 
even a small present for the faithful old soul. What 
did I need of money ? they doubtless thought. I had 
food and clothes and more would have been danger- 
ous — I might run away on it ! Time was all they 
granted me, time in abundance, that I might think 
over my actions ; that I might fully realize what a 
fool I had been to refuse my rich suitor. 

I clinched my hands in my muff. And people talk 
of free will — of a woman’s free will, above all ! Was it 
in my power to release myself from my position ? 
Surely not. How could I ? I had not even the money 
to reach the nearest large city, not enough to stop at 
the cheapest hotel until I could find a position, or to 
place an advertisement in the papers. I could not beg 
my way along the high-road. It sounds so easy — to 
make one’s own way through life ; but how hard it is 
for a girl who has not been trained to it from her 
earliest youth. Oh, how miserably poor I was in pos- 
sessions, protection and love ! 

Absorbed in these thoughts, I had not noticed how 
far I had strayed, and now paused suddenly where the 
wood road winds about a sharply-jutting cliff, and, pro- 
tected only by a low wall, falls sheer away to an abyss. 


roR another’s wrong. 


203 


’The last rays of daylight lay upon the tall firs that 
lined the chasm, and over the mountains which rose on 
every side. A great, impressive stillness surrounded 
me. Nothing stirred in the forests ; only the snow- 
flakes danced their silent dance about me. I held my 
breath and listened. Suddenly a sort of terror came over 
me ; all was so still, so deathly still ; not even the 
snapping of a branch, the cracking of a whip, nor a 
rifle shot echoing in the forest. Not even the poachers 
were out to-day ; it was Christmas — peace on earth for 
every living thing, peace and gladness for all — ex- 
cept me. 

I seated myself in the snow upon the low wall, and 
the hot tears ran down my cheeks. If the dear Lord 
loved me, I thought. He would send me something — 
something to comfort me, to be a sign that better times 
were jn store for me. I would sit there until He did, 
even if I froze to death. If they found me here dead, 
so much the better. 

I let my wet ha dkerchief fall. The sound of bells 
came up to me — the chiming sleigh-bells which the 
post-horses wear here — and I began to reflect whether 
I had not better ride back if there was room, for it had 
grown quite dark and it was a long way home. Sud- 
denly the post-horn rang sweet and full of Christmas 
cheer through the woods : 

“O Tannenbaum ! O Tannenbaum I’' 

But that was not the mail. The post-horses that 
turned the corner were harnessed to a Jiandsome sleigh. 


204 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


The postilion, with his plumed hat, was blowing away 
to his heart's content, and in the sleigh — I turned away 
in disappointment — an ordinary — I looked once more — 
a quite ordinary soldier ; nothing more. 

“ Let them go on,” I thought, and did not move. 

For an instant the music of the horn and the jing- 
ling of bells both ceased, but only for an instant. Then 
they sounded again, and I slowly turned my face home- 
W’ard. But there stood the same soldier before me — a 
tall, supple young man, his visorless cap cocked some- 
what on the side of his curly head, a fir-twig between 
his lips. 

“ Fraulein Anneliese von Sternberg ?” he said, re- 
moving the twig and raising his hand to his cap. 

I stared at him dumbly, amazed, bewildered. Then 
I recognized the fresh, handsome face, the true, ear- 
nest eyes. Yes, it vras the stranger I had seen before 
Hannchen's grave, in the Westenberg churchyard. I 
brushed a snowflake from my lashes and felt my 
hand tremble. 

“ That is my name,” I stammered. 

“ May I offer you a seat in my sleigh ?” he went on. 
“ You must excuse my presumption, gracious Frau- 
lein, but you have a long way to go, and it is grow- 
ing dark. You are, of course, going back to Langen- 
walde ?” 

I could only manage to articulate a half inaudible 
“ Yes,” and walked on beside him toward the sleigh, 
which had halted a little farther on. 

“ It is a true Christmas Eve,” he began, unconcern- 


FOR another’s wrong. 


205 


edly, as we walked along, “ a true German Christmas 
Eve,” and he smiled in his quiet way. Then he helped 
me into the sleigh, and we began, slowly, to ascend 
the mountain. The postilion played another tune, 
an old martial song, that father used to whistle, and 
which the recruits used to sing when they were told 
off and marched through the streets with red stream- 
ers around their caps, a song of which 1 knew only 
the tune and the first verse : 

Was griisst so traulich aus der Feme, 

Das Hebe teure Vaterhaus ?” 

My companion put the twig in his mouth again, and 
bit at it as though he were suffering physical pain, 
and trying in this way to repress it, and turning to 
me, he said, with a smile : 

“A German never ceases to be homesick, even 
though his home has thrust him off and given him a 
stone for bread. It is all just as it used to be, the snow 
and all, and the three tall firs up there on the height. 
Postilion, for Heaven’s sake, stop ! It makes me feel 
as if I were a boy again, and I forget that — that — ” 

The postilion put up his horn and looked around at 
us in wonder. 

“ Forgive me, Fraulein von Sternberg,” my escort 
said, turning to me. “ There are times when it is hard 
for a man to keep his equilibrium. Don’t pay any at- 
tention to me when I talk sentiment, but don’t laugh 
at me either !” 

“ Why should I laugh ?” I asked. “ I never laugh at 
any one who loves his home,” 


206 


FOR another's wrong. 


“ Then you know that this is my home ?" 

All at once there came over me one of those reckless 
moods when I say whatever happens to come into my 
head. 

“Yes, to be sure, Herr Robert Nordmann.” 

I looked at him as I said it, and my heart was thump- 
ing- wildly. 

He turned a pale face toward me. 

“ Tell me how you know ?” he demanded. 

“ Oh,” I answered, with a laugh, “ when one hears 
about this Robert every day, and hears an old woman’s 
lips beseeching God every night to watch over him and 
bring him back, and when one is told every morning : 

* See, Annaliese, this is the cup he used to drink out of, 
and he bit these dents in this spoon, and this is the 
apple-tree from which he picked his first apple, and it 
was on account of the grandmother of this cat that I 
had to box his ears, because he put the unfortunate 
creature into his boat and let her float around in the 
mill-pond. And, Annelieschen, see, he carved this for 
me, and he repeated this poem to me as a New Year's 
greeting ; and, Anneliese, this is the cap he wore on 
the very day before he went away, never to come back. 
And this is how he looked and — ’ The portrait is very 
like some one, and then I saw some one standing be- 
side Hannchen’s grave, and he had the brown hair and 
the eyes that Cousin Himmel always described. Well, 
do you think it needed such very great perspicacity to 
make the discovery, mein Herr?” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


207 


' He did not answer, but only smiled as he looked 
straight in front of him. 

“ There is only one thing that is not clear to me,” 
I went on — “ your uniform. Have you come to serve 
your year 

‘‘Yes,” he said simply, “and tardily enough. But I 
could not come before, I did not want to leave my 
poor, old father.” 

I did not listen to what he was saying ; my heart was 
suddenly filled with rejoicing, and I thought of my 
dear guardian angel. 

“ Cousin Himmel,” I cried, “ what will she say ? 
You must not rush in upon her, Herr Nordmann,” I 
added, “she would die of joy. Shall I prepare her?” 

I no longer felt that a stranger was silting beside 
me, a man with whom I had been conversing for the 
first time. I was simply happy in thinking of the dear 
old woman, and did not notice that he was silent and 
was letting me do all the talking. I suddenly stopped, 
ashamed. 

“ Forgive me,” I stammered. 

“ Forgive you ! For what ? Because my old home 
sends me a greeting from such lips ? Go on talking, 
go on, Fraulein von Sternberg.” 

“ No,” I said, confusedly. “ I shall disturb you in 
your thoughts.” 

“ By no means. I don’t care to think. My thoughts 
would be sad and troubled enough.” 

“ Why didn’t you come to Cousin Himmel sooner 

“ I did not know that she was here, and made inqui- 


208 , 


FOR another’s wrong. 


ries everywhere in Westenberg ; besides, my first duty 
was to present myself to the military authorities ; I 
had to make up for much lost time. You see I am 
already in uniform, and so have little time to myself. 
I did not mean to visit my other relatives until I had 
put off my uniform. Your stepfather and I have little 
to say to each other. And this little — ” 

“ You know that mamma — ” 

“Yes. I only learned it a short time ago.” 

There was an odd ring in his voice. Its soft tone 
had become almost harsh. He seemed little pleased 
with this marriage. 

“ Mamma would have been very glad to see you,” I 
faltered. 

He turned the conversation without replying. 

“ I am curious to see whether I .shall find everything 
as it used to be, the mill, the schoolhouse, and the 
castle. I believe that all during my absence I was 
here in spirit at least once every week, and how plainly 
I could see it all ! If you only knew how hard it was 
for me not to be able to hurry back as soon as war was 
declared. I was too young. I was in the midst of my 
studies, and, besides, I could not leave my father, who 
was already failing. He was dangerously excited over 
my intention of returning to Germany. So I remained 
at Cambridge, where I attended the college, and con- 
tented myself with the newspaper reports, which I de- 
voured in my room, with the pictures of our famous 
heroes before me, and, I must confess, with hot tears 
of renunciation. When the emperor’s proclamation 


FOR another’s wrong. 


309 


followed I was like a madman, and to show my patriot- 
ism I drank more than was good for me, for the first 
time in my life. You look at me in dismay, Fraulein 
von Sternberg. It was not right, I know ; but enthu- 
siasm had more to do with it than wine. The next day 
I had a headache, of course, and, in spite of it, the de- 
lightful consciousness that there was now a German 
emperor and a united empire.” 

“ What were you studying ?” I asked, laughing at his 
description. 

“ Law.” 

“ You don’t look in the least like a lawyer.” 

I am not practicing it at present, mein Fraulein. I 
am a miller, as a usual thing.” 

What ?” I stammered. 

“Miller,” he repeated — “meal, cornmeal. But you 
must not picture any such idyl as lies before us. Look ! 
The roof and the linden are just coming in sight above 
the hill, just as it used to be, and the stork’s nest is there, 
too. No, it ’s no such idyl as that with the tumbling 
brook and the clattering wheel. It is steam-power 
with us, and long, bare buildings with mighty chim- 
neys, and inside there is a hum and a clatter, and thou- 
sands of busy hands are at work among the machinery. 
There is no poetry about it, to be sure. The miller’s 
boy has no time to languish for the miller’s pretty 
daughter, to confess his love to the brook and gather 
forget-me-nots.” 

“ And you are a lawyer, too ?” 

“ At my father’s particular request, I am attending 


210 


FOR another’s wrong. 


a course of lectures in the town where I am sta- 
tioned, even now.” 

“ Where have you come from ?” 

“ From Halle, gracious Fraulein. Rather old for a 
student, eh 7 But there was nothing else to be done. 
Stop !” he cried, to the postilion ; I will get out 
here. Drive the young lady to the manor house, and 
then go to the inn and get yourself food and drink ! 
Then, Fraulein von Sternberg, you will prepare the 
old lady, will you not ? I should like to walk through 
the village first, in spite of the darkness. I couldn’t 
rest otherwise, and I must engage a room.” 

“ Aren’t you going to stay at the castle ?” I asked, 
in amazement. 

“ No !” he answered, shortly. Auf wiedersehen ! I 
must first pay a visit to the old building, where I 
romped with the village boys and pressed my nose 
flat against the window-panes.” 

He had gotten out of the sleigh in the meantime, 
saluted me, and I saw him take a large wreath from 
the box beside the postilion’s seat ; then he walked 
rapidly away, and I knew now where he was going — 
to his mother’s grave. 




CHAPTER XIV. 

I almost tumbled out of the sleigh as it drew up be- 
fore the house, and dashed across the court into the 
castle, nearly upsetting Frau Hiibner, who was carry- 
ing a large wooden tray filled with fragrant rolls. 

Mein Gott ! Are the wolves after you, Fraulein 
von Sternberg ?” she said, laughingly. “ You have 
been a long time away. Cousin Himmel is running 
from one room to another with anxiety." 

I only heard this vaguely, for I was bounding up the 
stairs as though I were pursued, indeed. Then I 
stopped to quiet the throbbing of my heart and con- 
trol my rapid breathing. How was I to prepare her ? 
All my diplomacy abandoned me completely, and I did 
not know how to invent a Christmas story ; it all 
seemed so incredible, so wonderful even to me. I 
began to wish he had come with me at once. 

Then I plucked up courage and went in. The faith- 
ful old soul was sitting musing by the stove — the spin- 
[ 2‘0 



212 


FOR another’s wrong. 


ning-wheel must not be touched to-day — and her eyes 
were very red. 

“ Oh, Anneliese, so you have come at last !” she said, 
reproachfully. “ You went away at one o’clock, and it 
is just six now. I have been terribly anxious about 
you.” 

“ Did you think I had run away ?” I cried, with a 
laugh. 

“ A body could expect anything from you,” she 
scolded. “ And here boxes and packages have come 
for you, four of them, and I have got a little tree ready 
and have opened the boxes. All you have to do is un- 
wrap the things. Everything is all ready in there, but 
before I light the candles you must drink some tea.” 

“ Ah, cousin,” I said, bringing out the words with 
difficulty, and pressing her hand till she winced with 
pain — “ ah, cousin, don’t be angry with me ; I only 
went to see about getting a Christmas present for you.” 

Herrje ! Was that it?” she said. ‘‘That wasn’t 
right of you. Why, have you any money, Fraulein 
Anneliese ?” she added, in alarm. 

“ Twenty pfennigs^ cousin ! But, you see, my 
Christmas present didn’t cost anything, and yet it is 
what you want of all things ; I know what you want. 
No ; no cake now ; afterwards ; I can’t eat now ; after- 
wards, dear cousin. But now guess — guess hard. I 
found something on the high-road, and I picked it up, 
or, rather, it picked me up, or I shouldn’t be here, and 
that is what you are to have. Can’t you guess yet ?’ 

The old woman pushed back her spectacles. She 


FOR another's wrong. 


213 


had been reading her hymn-book, and cast an anx- 
ious glance at me as I threw off cap, jacket, and over- 
shoes, and danced about the room like a colt let loose. 

“ Something that you have always thought quite im- 
possible for you to have, although it is your dearest 
wish, cousin,” I went on ; “ something living, as big 
as that !” and I raised myself on tiptoe and held up 
my arm. 

She cast at me a glance full of pain and reproach. 

“Ah, Anneliese, don’t make fun of me !” 

I threw my arms about her neck. 

“ God is my witness, cousin, that I am not making 
fun of you.” 

She pushed me back with both hands, and her face 
was pallid as she looked into my eyes. 

“ Annelieschen !” 

“ Cousin ! 

She felt for the nearest chair. 

“It isn’t true! You don’t mean what /mean — no, 
no, it isn’t true ; it isn’t possible !” 

“It is, it is !” I blurted out. “It’s your Robert!” 
Then I stopped, for she had sunk into a chair and 
stretched out her trembling hands to me. 

“ I shall never get over it if it isn’t true !” she sobbed. 
“ Anneliese, ah, dear Fraulein Anneliese !” 

I now had a hard time to soothe her, for she wept 
and wept, quite silently and shaking her head all the 
while. She was still crying, when there was a knock, 
and I vanished through another door. I did not wish 
to disturb them. I only heard the sound of his voice, 


214 


FOR another's Wrong. 


“ Cousin ! My dear, good — ” And then they must 
have embraced each other, for the word was smothered 
in a kiss. 

I sat in my room without moving. A lamp was 
burning upon the bureau ; on the table stood the four 
Chritmas boxes, and the gilded flags rustled on Cousin 
Himmel’s Christmas-tree. I did not suspect what had 
entered into my life with that tall, trim soldier ; I onl)^ 
felt unconsciously happy ; his handsome face, his frank 
manner pleased me so well, and the fact that he had 
returned to fulfill his military duty had impressed the 
soldier’s daughter. Brankwitz is a monster, compared 
with him, 1 thought. But what would Wollmeyer say 
when he heard that Robert Nordmann — yes, there was 
again that mysterious thing that eluded me ! The 
veil of the past, which hid a crime ! And Robert 
Nordmann’s mother was concerned in it and his 
father. His father, who had been punished, who was 
said — 

I felt once more that dark, oppressive dread — his 
father had lived under the suspicion of embezzlement. 
All the pleasure of the meeting was destroyed for me. 
But how was Robert Nordmann to blame ? For 
shame, Anneliese ! I chided myself. And he had 
spoken so calmly of his father. Was the man dead, I 
wondered, and had he been really guilty ? 

Absorbed in thought, I raised the lid of one of the 
boxes. An overpowering scent of flowers greeted me ; 
beautiful, fresh roses, orange blossoms and violets. 
For me? From whom? I looked at the postmark— 


FOR another’s wrong. 


215 


Cannes. Ah, from Brankwitz ! My first impulse was 
to fling the box out of the window ; then it occurred to 
me that it was marked valuable. I examined the con 
tents more closely, and discovered a familiar Russia- 
leather case, with my name inscribed in gold letters. 
The bracelet ! He dared to send me the bracelet, the 
first signal of renewed hostilities ! The truce was 
drawing to a close. Was there no escape ? 

“ I will not have it — I will not !” I burst out, tossed 
the flowers back into the box and replaced the cover. 
Where should I send it ? I did not know his address. 
Cannes ? There were so many strangers in Cannes ! 
But I did not mean to keep it ; it would have given a 
false impression. I would send it to Herr Wollmeyer 
and request him to return it to the sender. I did not 
touch either Herr Wollmeyer’s box or my mother’s. 
Then Cousin Himmel came in search of me. 

“ You must eat something now, Anneliese,” she said, 
** and I ’ll take the tree into the other room, so that the 
boy can have a share in it.” So we three sat down to- 
gether round the snowy cloth, the boy ” opposite me. 
Cousin Himmel between us. The candles on the 
Christmas-tree shed their light over the cozy room, 
and a fragrant steam curled above the punch glasses. 
The old woman could scarcely eat for joy and emo- 
tion, but she kept urging us to eat. ‘‘ Isn’t it like a 
dream, Anneliese ?” she asked me. 

“Yes, indeed, it is, cousin !” I answered, and looked 
across the table. He was such a stranger to me, and 
still so familiar. How beautifully he treated the old 


216 


FOR another’s wrong. 


woman, how earnest and hearty was his laugh ! He 
stroked Cousin Himmel’s hand, and reminded her of 
little events of long ago, and, when she sank her head, 
despondently, he said to her, kindly : 

Head erect, old lady, and don’t let unpleasant 
thoughts worry you. All will come out right, believe 
me. I shall do nothing as long as I wear my uniform.” 

“ Oh, Robert, it ’ll bring me to my grave yet. I wish 
I lay where Hannchen is lying.” 

I sat there in painful confusion, and dared not raise 
my eyes. Here it was, that terrible thing. 

“ Listen, cousin ; be sensible,” he urged, gravely. 

I still need you. Shall I — ” 

“ Oh, no, no !” she interrupted. If I only knew 
how it is to end !” 

“ Well, well ! Your health, cousin ! Long live 
Germany and all whose hearts are in the right place ! 
Your health, Fraulein von Sternberg !” 

Ach Gott ! there is Annelieschen !” murmured 
Cousin Himmel. 

“ What do you mean ?” he asked harshly. 

And as I looked at him in alarm a sudden flush rose 
to his forehead, upon which I now noticed a deep line 
that made him look older than before. Then he stopped, 
set down his steaming glass of punch, and looked past 
me, as though the old green-tiled stove interested him 
more than anything in the world. 

“You are angry now?” the old woman went on 
softly, her eyes cast down, her knotted hands folded 
upon the table. “ Robert, I only mean it for the best. 


FOR another's wrong. 


217 


Let it alone, Robert. You are meddling with a wasp’s 
nest.” 

“ Cousin, cousin, what has come over you ?” he said. 
“ Do you care so little for honor and justice ? Don’t 
you know what I mean ? But you do know, only you 
don't want to know. But I tell you that I shall not set 
foot upon ship again before I read in all the papers — ” 

‘‘ Hush, for God's sake !” she interrupted the young 
man, who had started up in his excitement. Think 
of Anneliese ! Ah, Annelieschen, you had better go to 
your room. Robert, remember he is no longer alone. 
He has — ” And her glance was fixed upon me in 
anguish. 

The young man made no answer. He had gone to 
the window and was staring out into the night. I rose 
to go, but he turned, and we looked into each other’s 
eyes in silence. 

** Forgive me !” he begged. “Please stay! If you 
go away, the shadows of the past will crush Cousin 
Himmel and me. I promise that I will be very good. 
Only everything has grown so lifelike. And when a 
wound that will never heal is freshly opened, the pain 
is sharper than ever. So, cousin, we '11 be good now.” 
He patted her kindly on the shoulder. “We won’t talk 
about the past any more, or look into the future. We 
will be happy in the present. Put fresh candles on the 
tree, cousin ; the old ones have burned out ; and then 
tell me one of your old fairy tales — a Christmas fairy 
tale. Once upon a time — what ? You don't know any 
more ?” 


218 


FOR another’s wrong. 


The old woman shook her head as she cut a long 
wax taper into short lengths, and we got a seat ready 
for her by the stove. 

“ Well, then, I will tell one,” he said, laughing ; and 
we sat down together, all three, he on the seat by the 
stove, and I on the footstool before the old woman in 
her arm-chair. 

“ There was once a little girl,” he began, teasingly, 
“ who ran away from her nurse one Christmas Eve, and 
sat down by the side of the road in the snow and 
cried.” 

“ It isn’t true,” I said, in confusion. 

He went on without heeding : 

“Just then a sleigh came along, and a man was 
seated inside. He saw her tears, and took her into the 
sleigh and said : ‘ I will take you home.’ And he was 
so glad to have her sitting beside her, for he was sad 
and lonely, and the ghosts of the past had seated them- 
selves in his sleigh and asked him, with pale lips and 
dead eyes : * Do you remember this — do you remember 
that ?’ And he thought his heart would break with 
anguish. But when the little girl had gotten in, the 
ghosts fled before the bright glance of the dark eyes 
which even the tears had not been able to dim. And 
in their places came a crowd of merry, laughing little 
rogues, flaxen - haired and bare - footed, like village 
children, who ran beside the sleigh, and climbed upon 
the back of the sleigh, and sat upon the horses between 
the bells, and giggled and laughed and asked : * Do 
you remember this, do you remember that ? Do you 


FOR another’s wrong. 


219 


remember the Christmas-tree in your father’s house, 
the Christmas cakes that your mother put into your 
chubby hands ? Do you remember how you crept 
through the pine thicket after the fox, and how you 
listened to the song of the forest birds ? Wasn’t it 
beautiful when the sunlight played through the fra- 
grant pines ? Wasn’t it fine when the strong trees 
bent before the storm and tempest ?' And the man 
loved his beautiful green home again, and forgave it 
for having cast him off. And in the little girl’s eyes, 
too, the tears had been vanquished, and her lips smiled 
once more. The little rogues had driven aw’ay all the 
heartache and all the pale, wicked spectres. But the 
little girl got out at last, and the man went on alone 
to the graveyard, to the holiest, most sorrowful spot 
•there can be on earth for any man — his mother’s 
grave. And then the wicked spirits stood beside him 
again and shook him with superhuman power ; they 
followed him through the streets of the village, lashed 
his poor soul and cried :• * Revenge, revenge !’ and 
pushed with him into the peace of a homelike room. 
They would not be still even in the light of the 
Christmas-tree and under the pressure of two old, 
friendly hands ; they did not even notice the little girl 
who sat there with downcast eyes and pale face, until 
— until she raised her eyes and looked at the haunted 
man. Then they fled like the mist. There is a magic 
power in human eyes — in pure, young girlish eyes.” 

“ Look at me, Annelieschen,” said Cousin Himmel, 
when he had finished, and I sat on my stool more 


220 


FOR another’s wrong. 


confused than I had ever been in my life before. ^‘Is 
there anything particular in your eyes ?” 

He laughed heartily, and I joined in gayly. 

“ Oh, of course, it was a fairy tale. I thought you 
meant Anneliese ! Yes, laugh, laugh, my children ! 
It’s God’s mercy that young people’s moods change 
from rain to sunshine, like April weather. How old 
are you two ? Anneliese will be nineteen in a few 
days ; and you ? It was somewhere in the beginning 
of the ’fifties that you came into the world, wasn’t it, 
Robert ? Soon after the great famine, but there 
wasn’t any sign of it at your christening. We had 
roast veal, and trout from the mill stream ; I cooked 
them myself when we came back from the church 
and each one had a sprig of parsley in its mouth. And 
you looked so fine on your pillow, just like a prince, 
and you were so good in church, and I gave you the 
silver spoon that still lies in my chest of drawers.” 

The old woman was talking softly to herself ; it 
sounded like another fairy tale. 

Outside the snow was falling, the Christmas snow ; 
all pain, all sorrow, all the threatening future were 
miles away, and all the wicked spirits had left us. One 
alone had remained, invisible, and still I suspected its 
presence without its being tangible, a wicked, winged 
little rascal with bow and arrow, who caused the roses 
to bud even on a winter night. Yes, he was there, but 
we did not understand him yet ; no, indeed. 

As the old woman’s murmur grew lower, and ceased 
altogether as sleep overtook her, the room remained 


FOR another’s wrong. 


221 


quite still, for neither of us spoke a word. Suddenly 
he started to his feet and took my hand. 

“ Good night, mem Fraulein, and pleasant dreams. 
Shall I see you again to-morrow ? At church ?” 

I nodded. 

I was left alone with the old woman ; the sound of 
his footsteps echoed on the stairs. Cousin Himmel 
awoke suddenly, and was inclined to be indignant that 
we had let her sleep, but went to her bed with blissful 
face. I remained standing for some time at the win- 
dow, looking after a manly figure until it was lost be- 
hind the houses of the village. Then I flung myself 
upon my bed, but sleep I could not. 




CHAPTER XV. 

The next day a glaring, pitiless winter sun rose over 
the white country and drove away all the magic charm 
as its rays penetrated into 'every nook and cranny. 
Cousin Himmel looked years older in the harsh 
morning light. She had come into my room and was 
watching me with troubled eyes as I got the box of 
flowers ready for the post again, and addressed it to my 
stepfather. I was very sad ; I had just opened 
mamma’s box, and, in addition to a very constrained 
letter, I had taken out a number of unmeaning pres- 
ents, things such as are given by a person to whom 
giving is a nuisance, and who buys impatiently the 
first thing that comes to hand. First, a leather case, 
with sewing appliances, such as one sees by the dozen 
in the shops of dealers in fancy goods ; next a diary, 
bound in red leather ; third, kid gloves, of little use in 
a place like this ; then a framed cabinet photograph of 
the old Kaiser bending over the cradle of his great- 
grandson, the very poor copy of a very poor picture ; 
a few sweetmeats and a little pink letter-paper, with 
blue violets in the corner. 

[222] 



FOR another’s wrong. 


223 


These were not the kind of presents mamma used to 
give ; the poor little trifles had always been selected 
with understanding and with love. Last year she had 
given me papa’s tiny iron cross, which he always used 
to wear in his buttonhole whenever he dressed in 
civilian’s clothes. I had hung it on my watch-chain, 
and had been so happy over it ! Some such single 
proof that she still loved me, and I would have been 
glad at heart to-day, but — she had other things to think 
of. My stepfather wrote me that his Christmas pres- 
ent was awaiting me at home ; mamma was already 
longing for me, and he would come for me himself the 
first part of January. 

“ 111 will come of it, Annelieschen,” said Cousin 
Himmel, as she carried down the box to give it to Herr 
Hiibner. And when she returned, she said again : 
“ 111 will come of it if he opens the box. How is it all 
going to end ? I had imagined things so very differ- 
ently. I can’t take any pleasure in the boy ; the best 
thing for me would be to be lying out there under the 
snow.” 

Immediately after dinner came the “ boy,” and she 
could not do otherwise than gaze at him proudly. 

“You have grown to be a handsome fellow, Robert,” 
she said admiringly. 

He had been early to church and had missed us. 

“ Anneliese overslept,” said Cousin Himmel, apolo- 
getically. “ She isn’t accustomed to sitting up late. 
We read a sermon aloud.” 

“ Ah, yes ! I went to the parsonage after church 


224 


FOR another’s wrong. 


and to the school. It is all as it used to be, and yet 
different. And then I strolled along the mill brook, 
and made the acquaintance of the miller’s boy. There 
have been many improvements made there. He says 
the meal is sent as far as Posen. For the rest,” he went 
on, “ this is a day to fill one’s lungs with fresh air. It 
is made for a walk. What do you think, cousin ?” 

“Oh, Robert, with my old legs! You would soon 
grow impatient. But, Anneliese, you would like to go, 
wouldn’t you ?” she said, turning to me. 

He looked at me questioningly. He was sitting by 
the window, and the sunlight shone upon his crisp 
brown hair, and his teeth gleamed in a smile under his 
mustache. 

“You are a good walker, Fraulein von Sternberg. 
But do you care to go climbing over the forest roads 
with a strange man ? The snow is deep, and it ’s a good 
hour to the feeding place at Heimbachgrund.’’ 

“ I am not afraid of snow and long tramps, and I 
shall be glad to find a new walk.” With that I left 
the room to dress for the expedition. 

So we started off together that day, and the next 
and the next, and it was always dusk when we returned. 
Cousin Himmel was quite willing to let us go off by 
ourselves. The good soul had no suspicion of what 
the world requires cf a lady ; she urged us to take ad- 
vantage of the fine days for our walks. She, mean- 
while, sat at the window and read or spun, and was 
ready to receive us with hot tea and pleasant words. 
Then Robert would stay fo supper, at Cousin Himmel’s 


FOR another’s wrong. 


225 


invitation, and we played draughts or a simple game 
of cards with the old lady. 

I came to know all his favorite roads, and as we saun- 
tered along, he told me of Chicago, of the great busi- 
ness his father had established, and which was so well 
looked out for by an excellent manager that he him- 
self could remain away without anxiety. Once we 
grew as merry as children, and snowballed each other 
from head to foot, and once I seated myself on a sled, 
and let him take me for an airing, as though I were a 
baby. Not for one moment did I have the feeling that 
I was doing what society would have called improper. 
I felt as though I were with a brother or cousin, with 
some one whom I could trust as m5’’self. 

Cousin Himmel looked questioningly into our laugh- 
ing eyes when we returned, and she sighed when we 
went on talking and teasing each other unrestrain- 
edly. 

New Year’s Eve had come ; on the first of January, 
Robert Nordmann was to leave. We started off on 
our last walk, somewhat more subdued than usual, for 
cousin had been crying. She went downstairs with 
us, and watched us from the courtyard-gate until we 
disappeared into the forest. She had placed her hand 
over her eyes, so dazzling was the sunlight. 

“ Now she will sit there and invent all sorts of trou- 
bles,” I said to my companion, as he walked thought- 
fully at my side. 

“ Unfortunately, she doesn’t need to invent them, 
Fraulein von Sternberg ; they are all there at hand ; 


f'OR AKOtHER’s WRONG. 


^^6 

but I cannot relieve her of them. I would do any- 
thing for the dear, old soul, except the one thing she 
demands ; that I cannot do. Only think ; last night, 
after I had gone, she wrote to me with her stiff, old 
fingers, and early this morning Hiibner’s son brought 
the letter. I had never had anything in writing from 
Cousin .Himmel, and I could have smiled, if all that 
she wrote had not been so heartbreakingly plain and 
true. Do you know, Fraulein Anneliese, you have be- 
witched her ; her every second word is, ‘ My poor 
Anneliese !’ ” 

“ What have I to do with it ?” I asked quickly. 

He looked at me. 

Nothing, really, and yet — " 

“ But how r 

** Look out, there 's a hole — hoop-la !” he cried, 
holding me up. “ The snow makes all the rough 
places smooth,” he went on. “ Come a little nearer to 
me — there — and do walk a little slower, please ! It is 
so beautiful under these Christmas trees, which 
God himself has decorated. See how the fir cones 
sparkle with rime, just as though they had been 
spun out of glass, up there on the sky, and what 
wonderful blue tints the snow takes on in the 
shadows !” 

“ What have I to do with the troubles you have caused 
Cousin Himmel ?” I asked, obstinately. 

Oh, you forget — you belong to the family now,” he 
said, jestingly, “ that is all.” 

“ I do not belong to the Wollmeyer family,” I ex- 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


227 


claimed indignantly. “ And that is not the reason 
either — you want to evade me." 

“ But you do belong to the Wollmeyer family," he 
said, suddenly becoming very grave, and some day 
you will hate me, and if I were to ask you : ‘ Will you 
go with me for a walk into the forest ?’ you would turn 
your back upon me. You would have to turn it, for I 
would seem like a blasphemer." 

“ What nonsense !" I cried, and flung a handful of 
snow in his face. “ I don’t want to hear anything more 
about it." 

“ But," he went on, without noticing my banter, 

one can understand and respect even one’s enemies, 
Fraulein von Sternberg. Can one not ?’’ 

“ Of course, but not love them," I said without think- 
ing, and Herr Wollmeyer rose before my eyes, the 
most respected citizen of Westenberg — as the countess 
had once called him — and, in my opinion, my bitterest 
enemy. “ It is very hard to feel for our enemies the 
love that Christ requires. Do many people love their 
enemies, I wonder ?’’ 

“ Not to love would be the best in this case — the 
best !’’ he said, softly ; “ or a terrible struggle would 
begin — a struggle that would be greater than one’s 
strength." And, as though he wished to put aside 
these thoughts, he began to whistle a march, or some- 
thing lively, and then he talked of indifferent mat- 
ters. 

But I knew” all at once what he meant ; and when 
we stopped near the feeding-place and cautiously 


228 


FOR another’s wrong. 


watched some deer that were daintily nibbling the 
hay in the rack, I said, abruptly : 

“ There is only one thing that could make me look 
at you in the light of an enemy, even if I under- 
stood and respected you.” 

He looked at me, questioningly. 

If you were to do anything that would help to 
make my mother more unhappy than she already is.” 
Is she unhappy ?” came the low question. 

“ I think she must be ; you know as well as I do that 
she must be.” 

He looked over at the deer again. 

“ I would spare your mother in every way possible.” 

I trembled with excitement and apprehension. 

“ Tell me everything,” I implored. “ That a wrong 
has been done you by Wollmeyer, my mother’s hus- 
band, Cousin Himmel has told me, but — ” 

Not to-day, not to-day !” he interrupted. “ Let me 
have this day in peace, please, please ! If you knew 
what I have been through since Christmas Eve you 
would not ask me.” 

He took a few hasty steps forward, and then came 
back with equal haste. His fresh, handsome face was 
so full of grief and pain that it was altogether altered. 
I was standing by the trunk of a beech tree ; he had 
cleared away the snow from a tree stump with a switch 
he had cut on the way, and now he sat down and sup- 
ported his head in his hand. 

‘‘You maybe sure that I will not judge you unkindly 
or prematurely. Tell me!” I pleaded. “You don’t 


FOR another’s wrong. 


229 


know how I suffer under my ignorance of all these 
facts. You don’t know, moreover, the painful situation 
in which I am placed. It can scarcely be made any 
harder by your appearance ; and even so, the most ter- 
rible certainty would be better than these suspicions, 
these fears.” 

I had stepped close to him. 

** Please !” I repeated once more. 

It cannot be harder, you say. Perhaps not, for you. 
But your appearance has made it much harder for me.” 

“ Oh, don’t go on talking like that ! Tell me the 
simple truth.” 

He seized my hands, and pressing them to his eyes, 
he said in a low voice : 

“ He robbed my father of his honor. You know 
whom I mean. My father lost his wife, his country, by 
this rascally deed. To be sure, he was fortunate — what 
people call fortunate — over there in America. He 
made money, this poor, modest schoolmaster, and left 
a large fortune behind him ; but the longing for Ger- 
many tortured him until the hour of his death. This 
longing I inherited. Two months after his burial I left 
the country. My father’s last words to me were : ‘ Go 
back and clear my name. You can do it. You are not 
as unskilled as I was. You have all things needful. 
You have knowledge, money, youth.’ And I have 
come. I not only have what my father spoke of ; I 
have the proofs that my father was innocent of what 
he was charged with ; that is to say. Cousin Himmel 
has them, I have come with the purpose of striking 


230 


FOR another’s wrong. 


my tent over there and pitching it again in Germany — 
if possible, in my old home. I have come because I 
was sick with longing for my fatherland ; because in 
the midst of all my labors and all my success one thing 
was always before me — a German home on German 
soil. And to this end I must clear my name of dis- 
honor, .because — Oh, let me stop, Fraulein von 
Sternberg !” 

** And to accomplish this my mother must bear a 
branded name !” 1 answered, calmly. 

He let my hands fall. 

“ There we are,” he murmured. 

“You think that I disapprove of your course?” I 
asked. “ Oh, I could not understand you if you were 
to do otherwise, Robert Nordmann.” 

“ Anneliese !” he said, softly. 

“ What is my mother — what am I to you ?” I con- 
tinued in a loud, harsh tone. “ The honor of your 
father, of your name, must be first with you. I under- 
stand that it is hard for you to have met me, to have 
talked with me like a friend ; but you may be sure I 
understand you perfectly. I would undoubtedly — I 
am certain of it — I would do just the same. And now 
come ; let us go home. The sun has gone down, and 
I am cold.” 

He rose wearily like an old man, as though he were 
no longer the same elastic young fellow, but some one 
very different ; he walked beside me without speaking. 
The twilight fell suddenly, dipping the whole land- 
scape in gray shadows ; the snow crunched under onr 


FOR another’s wrong. 


231 


feet, and the stars rose in the dark, clear, frosty sky in 
glittering splendor. Lights were already twinkling in 
the village as we issued from the forest and walked 
along the lane. In contrast with the bluish gray snow- 
light of the winter evening, the lighted windows 
looked an orange red. Cousin Himmel, too, had 
lighted her lamp ; she usually waited until we came, 
but everything was different to-day. Instead of chat- 
tering gayly, we walked beside each other without a 
word. The rosy veil of unconstraint, which had, un- 
til now, surrounded our intercourse, was rent ; the 
future looked dreary and cold, indeed. 

He tried to speak once or twice, but a short sound 
was all that passed his lips. At the courtyard gate he 
paused. 

Good night, Fraulein von Sternberg,” he said. 

“You are not coming in?” 

“ Will you still let me ?” 

“ What do you think of me ? Because you are ful- 
filling your father’s dying request, because you are 
seeking restitution for his wrongs, am I to be angry 
with you, I, who understand you so perfectly ? I beg 
of you, Herr Nordmann, have no thought of what I 
feel ; it is not in your power to save mamma from 
an unhappy fate. Neither she nor I bears the guilt of 
whatever is to come.” 

“ That is true, but it will be hard for me to see you 
so unhappy.” 

Just then Cousin Himmel called to us from the hall 
window. 


232 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Come, do not spoil the dear soul’s New Year’s 
Eve,” I entreated, going on ahead. 

He followed me with heavy steps. 

“Anneliese,”said Cousin Himmel, “two letters have 
come for you.” 

“ From mamma ?” I asked, seizing both letters at 
once. No, they were not from mamma ; one bore my 
stepfather’s handwriting, the other the countess's. I 
always like to get disagreeable things over, so I 
opened Herr Wollmeyer’s letter first. 

‘‘ Start from Langenwalde on the first of January, in time to 
take the ten o’clock express from X. We shall expect you here 
at nine o’clock in the evening. Cousin Himmel will accompany 
you. WOLLMEYER.” 

Indeed, that was somewhat dictatorial ! Clenching 
my teeth, I opened the second letter. 

“ My Dear Child : 

“ I hDpe that you will not be refractory in this instance. Lene 
needs you ; she is very quiet, very indifferent ; she is certainly 
pining for you. So, come soon. I am exhausted by all the con- 
fusion of Christmas. I have missed your help this year. AnJ 
•wiedersehen. Your auntie, CoUNTESS D.” 

“We must start for Westenberg early to-morrow 
morning. Cousin Himmel.” 

“ What ?” asked the old woman. 

I repeated my words. 

“ Who says so ?” she cried angrily. 

“ Herr Wollmeyer.” 

“ But it isn’t possible !” she cried, clasping her 
hands together. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


233 


“ It must be possible ; mamma needs me.” 

“ Is she ill ?” 

I don’t know.” 

“ And I am to go with you ? First I am to leave 
Westenberg, and then I am to go back again.” 

Of course, to protect me, cousin. I could travel 
quite well alone, but here it is in black and white.” 

“ How shall I ever get ready ? We shall have to 
start at five o’clock to-morrow morning,” and she hur- 
ried into the next room as fast as she could. 

In the meanwhile, Robert Nordmann had been 
standing motionless by the stove. 

“ I shall have to help her,” I murmured, and started 
to follow Cousin Himmel, but she would not let me in. 
I was to go away, or she would lose her head com- 
pletely. She would pack everything, herself, she and 
Hubner’s Rieke. 1 could not possibly help her ; so I 
came back again and seated myself at the window of 
the living-room. It was dark, for the old woman had 
taken the lamp with her — dark and still, except for the 
ticking of the clock. The man by the stove did not 
move. 

I had lived these last weeks here in the mountains as 
in a deep sleep, which had vouchsafed me a short, fair 
dream. Now had come the awakening, a harsh 
awakening indeed ; the sweetness of the scarcely 
vanished dream made the reality seem even more 
bitter. What was to happen now? When would 
Robert Nordmann demand his reckoning? Not as 
long as he wore a uniform, he had said. Mamma had 


234 


FOR another’s wrong. 


a respite, before she learned that she was the wife of a 
swindler, that the father of her second child was a dis- 
honored man. She would never survive it. I knew it, 
but no one could save her from it. I folded my hands 
involuntarily. Oh, for some escape — some escape, 
dear Lord ! 

The door of the adjoining room opened slightly. 

Robert,” Cousin Himmel called, “ one moment !” 

He crossed the room slowly and entered her bed- 
room. Neither they nor I had noticed that the door 
had not been shut tightly again. At first I heard only 
a low murmur, quite indistinguisable to my ear, and 
then his loud, calm voice : 

“ And if it were a thousand times as you say, I could 
not do otherwise. Or do you think I would offer a 
tarnished name to the woman I love? Do you think I 
could bear to have people pointing their fingers at us 
and saying : ‘ That is Nordmann, whose father had a 
warrant out against him for stealing, and served his 
time in prison.’ And now, I beg of you, don’t discuss 
the matter any longer. You bewilder me with your 
reproaches, and just now I need a clear head more than 
ever.” 

What Cousin Himmel answered I did not know ; 
neither did I care. My one thought was : This, then, 
is the reason. He loves some one he wants to marry. 
The room seemed suddenly to have grown so cold that 
my teeth chattered. There was silence in the adjoin- 
ing room. 

“ Would to God I were dead !” sobbed the old woman. 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONC. 


^^5 

suddenly. “ Oh, Robert, Robert ! My Anneliese — my 
poor little Anneliese ! 

I sprang up in a burst of anger that robbed me of all 
calm reflection. I threw open the door and stood 
menacingly before the old woman. 

** We do not want any pity, neither mamma nor I !” 
I cried. ** Herr Nordmann is doing only right, and if 
he lets himself be persuaded by you to spare this Woll- 
meyer, I will go to him myself and tell him that he is 
a swindler !” 

Cousin Himmel hurried over to me and grasped my 
shoulder. 

“ Annelieschen ! Robert, she has heard it all !" 

He came to me and took my hand. 

“ Good-by, Fraulein Anneliese,” he said, and then 
turned to go. I saw the door close behind him ; a red 
film came before my eyes, I clutched at Cousin Him- 
mel for support, and then consciousness forsook me. 

When I came to myself, I was lying on my bed ; 
the lamp was turned low, and the old woman was 
crouching on a footstool. There was a bowl of water 
beside her and a bandage. As I moved, she started 
up and came and bent over me. 

‘‘Only speak one word, Anneliese. Do you know 
me ?” 

I collected myself with difficulty. 

“Where is Herr Nordmann ?” I asked, quickly. 

*‘Ac/i Gotty Annelieschen, don’t get excited! He 
has gone. Oh, if he had only stayed where he was ; 
if he had never come back I” she moaned. 


AM0THER*S WROl^C. 


236 

“ He is doing right,” I answered, shortly. 

“Yes, yes !” she sobbed. “ But that is what makes 
it so hard.” 

“ Go to bed, cousin, please ; I am tired and want to 
sleep.” 

She went at last. I lay awake this New Year’s 
Eve and heard the church-bells ring at midnight. 
Where could //e be ? And then I buried my head in 
the pillows, and hot, heavy tears ran down my cheeks. 

Oh, foolish Anneliese, there is no happiness for you ! 




CHAPTER XVI. 

The next morning we started in perfect darkness ; 
Cousin Himmel was unrecognizable in Hiibner’s old 
fur hunting-coat, which he had lent her for the ride 
to the Quersleben station. The weather had changed ; 
a warm wind moaned in the trees, and the snow on 
the road was soft and wet. The Hiibners had seen to 
the breakfast, and their faces were sad as they tucked 
us into the sleigh. My heart was very low as I held 
out my hand to the good people in parting, and I felt 
very much as one who is leaving a safe harbor for the 
tossing sea without. Ah, how desolate everything 
had become since yesterday ! 

“ Good-by, dear Fraulein. We hope that your lady 
mother will soon be quite well again,’' said Frau 
Hiibner. 

The horses started. The sleigh-bells sounded con- 
fusedly at first, then fell into their regular kling, kling, 
kling ; the lantern shed its light over the road, and on 
we went into the battle of life. 

Cousin Himmel seemed to be asleep. She sat there 

[237] 


238 


FOR another’s wrong. 


in the huge fur coat without moving. The driver on 
the box seemed to be asleep, too ; and the horses trotted 
sleepily along the familiar road. Something moved 
behind me on the back seat, and turning round, I 
caught a glimpse of a soldier’s cloak, and above it a 
well-known face under a soldier’s cap. 

. “You!” I said. 

“ I wanted to say good-by to you,” he whispered. 
“You must give me your hand just once, and promise 
to keep a kindly remembrance of the days between 
Christmas and New Year’s.” . . 

His voice was agitated. His eyes had an earnest, 
pleading look. 

“Whatever may come,” I said, “ I will always remem- 
ber these days.” 

“ Always ?” 

“ Always, Herr Nordmann.” 

The sleigh glided on with the sleeping Cousin Him- 
mel and the nodding coachman — on into the windy 
winter morning. Not a single comforting star in the 
sky ; nothing* but the feeble light of the lantern, which 
lighted the road but dimly. Much as our future 
stretched before us was it here ; not a star, no ray of 
light. 

“ Anneliese,” he whispered close to my ear, “ Anne- 
liese, do not forget that what must come will make me 
a thousand times more unhappy than it will you.” 

“ But why ?” I murmured, and the wind that had 
blown aside my veil seemed burning, so hotly did the 
blood throb in my temples. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


239 


** Why ? Do you really not know, Anneliese ?” 

I bent my head back, turn it I could not, so tightly 
was I wedged in beside Cousin Himmel, and I would 
not have wakened her for the world at this moment. 
But I could not prevent the tears running down my 
cheeks — foolish, hot tears. 

You must not be unhappy ; you must not take it so 
hard, I said in a half choked voice. 

Then I felt my head taken between his hands, 
and felt his burning lips pressed softly against my 
eyes. 

“ Oh, we two,” he said, “ we two unfortunates !” 
And then a kiss upon my mouth, a long kiss. 

The place behind me was empty, and the darkness 
was as dense as ever ; but all had grown bright before 
my eyes, not with the light of the rising sun, no, but 
of a setting sun, which was setting in a purple glory 
behind the dark clouds. “ Farewell !” said the glowing 
rays, “night is coming now.” And the sleigh-bells rang 
of parting and separation, through the moaning, storm- 
shaken forest, while a still wilder storm shook my soul. 
Oh, we two, we two iinfortunates ! Life and death in 
one breath ! We had found each other to lose each 
other — for another’s wrong ! 

I cannot tell how I got through that day. The whole 
world seemed different. I no longer thought of going 
out into the world among strangers. I wished only 
one thing — to stay with my poor mother as long as 
God left us to each other ; to be a comfort to her in the 
trial that was at hand, and to guard in secret the tiny 


240 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Spark of happiness that God had allotted - me, even 
though it might never grow to a flame. 

So I sat there, exhausted by my emotions ; unable to 
eat or speak. Cousin Himmel was silent likewise, and 
the lines in her face were deeper than ever. The car- 
riage was awaiting us at the Westenberg station, but 
no one had come to meet us. There was company at 
the house, the coachman told us. We rolled through 
the dark streets in silence and drew up before the 
house. The upper story was brightly lighted, but only 
a maid came to welcome us. Cousin Himmel trotted 
ahead to our rooms. 

“ Mamma has been here,” I said, as I entered. The 
room was heated, the table laid, and a bunch of violets 
lay under the lamp. Before I had flung off my cloak, 
I heard dear, familiar steps crossing the ante-room 
and the next moment my head lay on her breast. 

“ My dear, dear child ! I have you again !” 

And I shall stay with you always — always !” I said, 
my whole heart in my words. 

She stroked my forehead slowly, and did not answer. 

“ That would be very nice,” she said at last, and 
looked past me absently, “ but — but — ” 

“ Oh, no buts, dear mamma ! We will just enjoy the 
present, that is, our being together. Of course, you 
are living very quietly now,” I added, for Cousin Him- 
mel had told me that mamma missed me so much, be- 
cause she had to spend so much time on the lounge in 
her room. 

She looked at me in surprise. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


241 


“ Oh, no, Anneliese, we have a great deal of com- 
pany, and I am so glad that you are here to help me a 
little ; and I am very grateful to Cousin Himmel for com- 
ing, too, for she will take a great many cares from my 
shoulders.” She said all this so wearily, so apatheti- 
cally, as if it were scarcely worth the trouble of saying. 
Then she asked, with somewhat more animation, while 
a crimson flush rose to the slender, suffering face : 
“You sent Brankwitz’s present back to Wollmeyer ?” 

“ Yes, mamma. Did you expect me to do anything 
else ?” 

She twisted her handkerchief in embarrassment, and 
a shiver passed through her frame. 

“ Oh — I — ” then she stopped. 

“ Did you have any unpleasantness about it ?” I 
asked, anxiously, taking her hand in mine. 

“ No,” she admitted, with downcast eyes, “ because 
I — you will forgive me, Anneliese — I happened to re- 
ceive the package ; I kept it because I thought — I 
thought it better for you to return the present to 
Brankwitz yourself, or through Cousin Himmel, for 
Bernhard — you know — he — he — ” 

She trembled still more, and the hot, slender fingers 
shook in mine. 

“ Don’t excite yourself, mamma. You were quite 
right,” I agreed. “ If I had known his address, of 
course I should have sent it directly to him. Only tell 
me where the sender is at present, and I will see to it 
at once.” 

She looked at me, helpless as a sick child. 


242 


FOR ANOTHER'S WRONG. 


I cannot tell you, Anneliese he has left Cannes, 
but — ” and she said it in a very low voice, “ he is com- 
ing here in a week.” 

** Here ?” I must have spoken impetuously. 

She was silent, and her face was troubled. 

“ Mamma,” I begged, going up to her, “ tell me one 
thing ; comfort me. I camiot understand how you, 
who always loved me — ” I stopped, for just then 
Wollmeyer entered the room. He looked flushed and 
heated, as he always did when he had dined well. . 

“ Helene, I beg of you !” he cried, reproachfully, 

the Landrdthin is standing by the piano, fingering 
her music. Come, come, who else is there to accom- 
pany her ? Good evening, Anneliese ; we shall see 
each other to-morrow. Has Cousin Himmel come 
with you ? Good ! You probably have a great deal 
of news to tell me ? Well, good night ! Come, 
Helene !” 

“ All as it was before,” I said, looking across at 
papa’s picture. “ I am the only one that has changed.” 

There came a sharp knock at the door just as Cousin 
Himmel and I had sat down to tea, and the countess 
came in. 

‘‘ So, ho !” she cried, “ you ’ve come back to the nest 
again ?” and she kissed me, pushed me into my chair, 
and sat down beside me. “ Don’t let me interrupt you 
in your supper ; I only wanted to have a glimpse of 
the monkey here. How are you, my chick ? Why, I 
do believe, you ’ve grown^ and your eyes have become 
quite serious !” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


243 


She took me under the chin and raised my face. 

“ What has become of your impudence, little one ?” 
she asked, and there was something gentle in her tone. 
‘‘ You look like a little tamed doe. Is this the result 
of your retirement up there ?” and then she began 
to talk and ask questions, and I learned a number of 
things. 

** So the Brankwitzes are expected on the eighteenth 
of January ? Your stepfather is to give a grand ball — 
a masked ball. The invitations have already been sent 
out. You must help your mother a little, Anneliese, 
and you must try to make her face life with more 
courage.” 

“ Yes, auntie.” 

** Since when have you grown so docile that you say 
* yes ’ and * amen ’ to everything ?” she asked in surprise. 
** You would have made decided objections before. I 
hope you haven’t become so on a certain point. Or 
have they succeeded in taming you ?” 

“ Oh, no, auntie !” 

“ Well, that ’s good. And now that you have grown 
sensible to a certain extent I will tell you something — 
Do you know. Cousin Himmel,” she broke off, “ whether 
Brankwitz has a brother, or whether there are any 
other Brankwitzes in Berlin ?” 

“ There is no brother, countess,” murmured Himmel. 
“ He is the only representative of the family. He has 
no relations either, as far as I know.” 

Then she laid her spoon across her empty cup — a 
sign that her meal was ended— folded her knotty hands 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Ui 

in a silent grace, gathered up the supper things, and 
left the room with an old-fashioned courtesy. 

“ She 's one of the kind that grows rarer every day,” 
said the countess, looking after her. “ Well, but listen. 
You had not been gone long when there came a ring 
at my door-bell, and a few minutes after Josephine 
came tumbling into the room, scarcely able to speak 
for joy. Behind her came my nephew — at least, I call 
him so — with that good-natured laugh of his. Yoii 
remember him. He was here as sub-lieutenant once, 
and you went with him in the merry-go-round on the 
Schiitzenwiese. Herr Gott^ one doesn’t forget such a 
long thing as he is ! Well, he is now first lieutenant 
in the Dragoon Guards, a picture of a man. Hm ! I was 
going to say that as we were sitting over dessert, and he 
w^as skillfully peeling an apple — that was always his 
strong point — and we were dressing down our rela- 
tions a bit, when you came into my mind — you know 
you’re a bit of myself, you godless, little scapegrace. 

‘ By the way, Fritz,’ I said — he is called Friedrich 
Dietrich, and is nicknamed Fritz Ditz — *• do you hap- 
pen to know anything of a Herr von Brankwitz in 
Berlin ? I know that Berlin is a big place, but he must 
frequent sporting circles, for he knows all the well- 
known men and has their jargon at his tongue’s end.’ 
His round honest face grew quite long ; he knitted his 
brows and his mustache bristled just as the hair on 
my blessed dachshund's back used to do when he was 
angry. ‘ Brankwitz ? To be sure I know the fellow — 
Jie is the biggest swindler in all Berlin !’ ‘No, no,’ I 


IFOR ANOtHER^S WRONG. 


245 


said, ‘we don’t mean the same person.’ ‘ I don’t know 
of any other ; I wish they would put a stop to his per- 
formances,’ he replied. ‘ The one I mean is rich as 
Croesus, and wants to buy Damnitz and marry An- 
neliese Sternberg.' ‘ Indeed ?’ he said with a drawl. 
‘ Then I hope it ’s another, otherwise Anneliese had 
better drown herself at once.' We said no more about 
it ; it isn’t possible that he is the one we know. But 
sometimes, child, when I think the matter over, such 
an uncanny feeling comes over me ! Don’t let your- 
self be humbugged, for heaven’s sake! But one thing 
I can tell — I will not meddle any more.” 

“ Don’t be alarmed, auntie. I won’t bother you 
again ; besides, I think as you do, that it must be some 
one else.” ^ ^ ^ 

“ It must be ; but thoughts will come into people’s 
heads at times. Good night, child ! If yoii have time, 
come and see me, but you will scarcely have much. 
Your stepfather seems bent on turning the Westen- 
bergers’ heads, and I fondly hope that all his prepara- 
tions will not be made in vain.” 

I looked at her questioningly. 

There was a droll smile on the countess’s old face. 

“ He hopes for a decoration. The Landrath says that 
some one proposed his name. Well, I don’t grudge 
him the order of the Red Eagle or the crown of the 
Fourth Rank. He has deserved it on account of my 
waifs. Good night, little one.” 

Not one of all these people had a suspicion of the 
§torm that was threatening. And how should they ? 


f’ok another’s wrong. 


The next morning- Herr Wollmeyer appeared in my 
room. He seemed to be very amiably disposed, asked 
me how I had liked it in Langenwalde, spoke a few 
friendly words to Cousin Himmel, asked whether she 
was glad to come back, and said that he was glad to 
feel that there was a capable person in the house, now 
that there was so much about to happen, “and, in 
short, we will be friends again, old lady — eh ?” 

She looked at him with a peculiar, sphinx-like 
glance, and something like fear of this simple woman 
seized me. 

“ As far as is in my power, but the helm is not in my 
hand,” she answered, solemnly. 

“You old croak, I know that a higher power holds 
the helm,” he said, with a laugh. “ Come, tell me 
what you did with yourselves the live-long day. If 
Brankwitz had had his way, I should have set you free 
at Christmas, but we must stick to the punishment, I 
said to Helene,” and he gave another jovial laugh. 

“ It would have been a pity,” answered Cousin Him- 
mel, calmly, and her white face betrayed her deep in- 
ward emotion — “ it would have been a pity ; we had 
such a pleasant Christmas.” 

He was struck by her tone ; he looked at her startled. 

“ Well ?' 

“ I didn’t think that such happiness would come to 
me in my lifetime,” she went on, as she swept a few 
crumbs from the breakfast table. “ I only wish that 
Hannchen could have seen that Robert had come back 
again.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


247 


He had sprung up, almost as pale now as the old 
woman herself. 

Robert ?” he repeated. Ah, that is the reason !” 

Robert Nordmann,” she assented. 

He shrugged his shoulders and tried to assume a 
contemptuous air, although fear at this unexpected 
news still spoke in his eyes. 

I shall have to put my hand deep into my pocket,” 
he said, brutally. You are his go-between, I sup- 
pose, eh ?” 

“He said nothing to me about it,” she answered, 
without changing a muscle. 

“ So this pleasure came to you at Christmas time ?” 
he demanded, and his fear changed to anger. “ How 
is it that I was not informed of this piece of news un- 
til to-day ?” 

“ I really did not know that it was news to you,” 
she answered, steadily. “ I thought that the order for 
our return had something to do with Robert’s 
presence.” 

“ Presence ?” He grew purple with anger. “ Pray 
how long has he been hanging about there ?” 

“ I don’t know, nor how long he is going to stay. 
We left him there.” 

“ And he has taken up his quarters in my house, 
without deigning me so much as a word ?” he stormed, 
glad to have a tangible ground for his anger. 

“ He has been staying at the inn,” interrupted Cousin 
Himmel. 

“ Indeed ! And has been sneaking and prying 


248 


FOR another’s wrong. 


around, making a calculation for the sum he can stick 
me for. I am sure of it, or he would have come straight 
to me like an honest man.” 

He was only homesick for his native land,” was the 
answer. 

I sat speechless in my chair — and pressed my hands 
together, trembling with excitement. 

Homesick for his native land !” he repeated. He 
has every reason for wanting to get back, so that the 
memory his father left behind him may not die out.” 

The old woman started as under the cut of a whip. 

“ You know, Wollmeyer,” she said, slowly, that the 
Langenwalders would die for their former schoolmaster 
even to-day ; and those whose teacher he was, and 
who are now grown up, first and foremost. The people 
up there have kindly recollections of Nordmann — in 
spite of everything.” 

“ The rabble always sides with men like him,” he 
answered. “ It is the spirit of the times to take sides 
against respectable men. And now, out with it — what' 
does the rascal want here ?” 

‘‘ He has come to serve his time in the army.” 

“ What ? What ?” He laughed. “ It ’s like the tribe ! 
Always the cloak of piety and patriotism over the foul- 
ness beneath. It must have made a fine impression 
upon the Langenwalders when he came swaggering 
down upon them in his uniform. Yes, the Nordmanns 
understand that sort of thing. Well, and what regi- 
ment has the honor of numbering this brave young 
gentleman in its ranks ?” 


FOR another's wrong. 


249 


“ He is in Halle, because he wishes to attend some 
lectures on penal law,” I remarked carelessly. 

“Ah, you, too, have something to say, mein Fraulein. 
You, too, were delighted with this interesting visitor. 
He is a handsome fellow, eh ? America produces such 
specimens. A few foreign ways, a few foreign words, 
and there you have him complete. He struck your 
eye, did he, eh ?” 

“ Oh, yes, I was pleased to think that he had come to 
serve his year.” 

“ And study law ! I suppose he means to dazzle the 
Americans with it on his return. Student and volun- 
teer, and past twenty-five. Fine idea !” He laughed 
again. “ He ought to have thought of it earlier.” 

“ So he did. He has been doctor of law for some 
years. And he would have come back earlier if he 
could have left his father,” I answered. 

“Ah, he seems to have told you ladies very fine 
tales. You are not usually so credulous, Anneliese. 
But now, cousin, to come to the point. How much does 
he want of me, or have you been playing the Lady 
Bountiful and given away your few thalers ? That 's 
probably what you have done.” 

“ I don’t believe that he is thinking of presents ex- 
actly,” she said, with a peculiar emphasis. 

“ Ah, perhaps he thinks he has a right to demand ? 
I can very soon convince him of the contrary. How- 
ever, I shan’t stick at a few hundred marks, though he 
hasn’t deserved it by his conduct. You can write him 
so — for aught I care. But add that he must be sparing 


250 


FOR another’s wrong. 


with his travelling money on the way here. Good-by, 
Anneliese. You are coming up to see your mother 
later on ?” 

He left us. Cousin Himmel looked after him in 
silence. When he had closed the door behind him, 
she sank into the nearest chair and wrung her trem- 
bling hands. 

“ Oh, God — oh, God !” she murmured, softly. 

I went to her and stroked her faded face. I pitied 
her, for she was struggling between her love for her 
nephew and her love for my mother and me. The vic- 
tory of the one was the ruin of the other. She did not 
notice my caresses ; she got up and went to her room. 

The days passed, unsettled, full of trifles, affording 
no time for self-communion or mental rest. I had been 
to the countess’s once, and there I met Frau von Tollen, 
bowed, sad, hardly recognizable. Lore had gone to 
Italy with her uncle, and the separation was in prog- 
ress, the countess told me afterward. 

“ Why are they separating ?” I asked. 

Ah, child, it is an ugly story, and Frau von Tollen 
begged me to be discreet. Don’t ask me.” 

“ Poor Lore !” 

The only time I had to myself was the half hour 
that I spent in my room with Cousin Himmel before 
going to bed. In silence she unfastened my clothes 
and brushed my hair, gently and caressingly as ever. 
We scarcely ever talked to each other, but we had the 
same thought — Robert. And as I thought, I looked 
into her eyes. Had she seen the kiss — the sweet, sad 


FOR another’s wrong. 


251 


kiss of finding and losing ? Not a line of her face, not 
a word betrayed it. All she said was : 

“ When human understanding can find no way in or 
out, the Lord always finds a door. You must not look 
so pale, Anneliese. Look in the glass ; you won’t see 
your old, roguish face !” 

No, it was not there. I saw it myself. Something 
pale and long looked out at me, with eyes under which 
lay deep shadows ; and a firmly compressed mouth, 
which had lost all inclination to retort. The lips, too, 
were no longer childish lips, but this was known only 
to him and to me and to the storm which had blustered 
past us. And they had forgotten how to laugh so 
quickly — forever, for when should they learn how 
again ! 

Oh, cousin, how will it all end ?” 

*‘The master has said, ‘Trouble not !’ If I did not 
believe in his h*elp, I would not be living now,” she 
answered. 

“ But the inevitable is coming ; it must come.” 

She was silent, for she, too, knew that it must come. 

“ Cousin, have you heard from him ?” I asked, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“ No,” was the short answer. 

Cousin Himmel was on her feet at daybreak, trot- 
ting upstairs and down, and taking all the weight of 
domestic cares upon her old shoulders. Herr Woll- 
meyer grew more nervous and excitable every day, 
and Cousin Himmel muttered something about “ going 
crazy ” when he demanded that, on the occasion of the 


252 


FOR another’s wrong. 


fancy-dress ball, she should don the old-time costume 
of a burgher’s wife, the big cap, full cloth skirt ruff 
around the neck and wide, white apron — a costume 
very much like the one worn by Frau Schwerdtlein in 
“ Faust.” 

“ Who is she ?” asked the honest old soul. “ I never 
heard of her. He ought to let me alone !” . 

He ought to let me alone,” the countess said too, 
as she came into mamma’s room one evening. Mamma 
and I were sitting there in the twilight, talking of in- 
different matters. “ He ought to let me alone, Lene ; 
masquerading is beyond me. What has come over 
him ? Every sparrow on the roof is twittering about 
Wollmeyer’s masked ball ! If you were still young 
people — but as it is ! You have every reason for 
leading a quiet life just now.” 

Mamma did not answer. 

“And, Lene, another thing ! How did you and 
Wollmeyer come to call at the Erbmundschenk von 
Pauersleben’s ? I know that his excellency was very 
gracious to Wollmeyer on the Kaiser’s last birthday, 
but—” 

Mamma shrugged her shoulders slightly without re- 
plying, but a flush of shame rose to her face. 

“ Well, don’t take it amiss, Lene,” the countess went 
on, inexorably ; “ I only mean that there is a limit to 
all things. The Pauerslebens seemed to be very much 
surprised ; you know her, Lene ? She has nothing 
against you, but Wollmeyer is a total stranger to 
them, and you must understand, Len^— ” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


253 


** I understand ; yes, I understand, countess, but I 
can’t help it !” mamma cried, nervously. 

“ I will tell you what, Lene — you have become a per- 
fect nonentity,” persisted the countess. “You let 
yourself be influenced in a way perfectly incompre- 
hensible to me, and have completely lost the realiza- 
tion of what — of what your position demands.- Don’t 
be angry. I ’ve got to say it sooner or later. If it 
goes on like this, you will make yourselves a laughing- 
stock. You surely must have the right to say : This 
is the limit of good taste, you cannot go any farther. 
You always made Sternberg do what you pleased, and 
now you cannot even — ” 

“ Auntie,” I implored, “ don’t scold. Mamma is ill — 
aren’t you, mamma ? And you see, auntie, papa — papa 
was — ” 

“ Yes, yes, chick, you are right,” the countess ad- 
mitted. “ Papa was — Well, don’t bear me any ill 
will, Lene, and tell him that if I can’t come in my 
black silk, I shall stay at home. And don’t look so 
miserable ; he has his good qualities ! Why, look, he 
dresses you in silks and satins, and gives you every- 
thing suitable. And yesterday he gave me two hundred 
marks for coal to the poor. Be good, Lene ; you can 
always count on me.” 

She stroked mamma’s face and went away. 

Mamma lay quite still. I thought at last that she 
must have fallen asleep, so I withdrew into the deep 
window recess and looked over toward the west, where 
only a pale line of gold told of the departed day. 


254 


FOR ANOTHER’S WRONG. 


I suddenly heard my stepfather’s loud voice : 

“ Helene ! Here ’s another infernal letter from 
Brankwitz. It ’s time I had some peace ! He hopes 
to find everything arranged or the way made suffi- 
ciently smooth for him, when he arrives to-morrow 
noon.” 

Mamma was silent. I heard only a deep, painful 
sigh. 

H’m ! Have you spoken to Anneliese ?” he asked, 
impatiently. 

“ No, Bernhard, not yet.” 

** Why not ?” 

Silence followed. I was just on the point of coming 
out, but drew back again, thinking that he would go 
away. 

** I ask you, why not ? I must insist upon an an- 
swer,” he repeated, and the words sounded threatening 
and angry. 

“ I have not the strength,” said mamma. 

‘‘ Indeed ! This is a new excuse. By this evening 
you will have found the strength to make the case 
clear to that obstinate young lady, unless you prefer to 
have me do it. And then, you know — the wind won't 
blow any too gently.” 

I was at mamma’s side the next instant. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, mamma,” I said. “ I will talk 
with Herr Wollmeyer.” And turning to him : ** Shall 
we go to your room ?” 

He was so surprised and confused that he followed 
me, T closed the door behind us and lighted a couple 


POR another’s wrong. 


255 


of candles before the mirror. They scattered their 
light about the large room without illuminating it. 

“ Will you kindly tell me what it is about ?” 

He had collected himself and said jocularly : 

‘‘You act as though you were at home here, Anne- 
liese.” 

“Very far from it. I only wished to spare my 
mother the explanations which, I am quite sure, will 
not lead to the result you desire.” 

“ Well, we shall see about that. Please take a seat. 
Will you permit me to light a cigar ? It quiets one 
down — What are you doing here, Helene ? Go, I 
beg of you !” he cried, as mamma, trembling with ex- 
citement, appeared on the threshold. 

“ Please go, mamma ; I can talk better without you,” 
I joined in, and gently pushed her back. She cast one 
look of unspeakable distress at me, and then went 
away. I remained standing, quietly, by the large 
bookcase with the handsomely bound books, whose 
contents were most probably utterly unknown to their 
owner. 

“ Well, my dear Anneliese, it is about your mar- 
riage.” 

“ I thought as much.” 

“ You thought as much ? Then Brankwitz has — ” 

“ Herr Wollmeyer, before- you go any further, I 
would like to inform you that I am still of the same 
mind as I was when I went away a few weeks ago. 
Herr von Brankwitz is uncongenial to me and always 
will be.” 


256 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“For the present you may believe so, but I may 
soon be able to change your mind,” he said, with ap- 
parent good nature. 

“ That I doubt !” 

“ I do not !” 

“I am quite sure that you will use the same 
measures that you have seen fit to use with mamma, 
but they will have no eflect upon me.” 

“Ah ! I have employed no measures with your 
mother so far ; that is still to come.” He blew great 
clouds of white smoke toward the ceiling. “ So, Anne- 
liese, you are not inclined to listen to reasonable 
arguments ?” 

“Reason has nothing to do with such a case. I will 
not marry against my inclination, far less with a de- 
cided disinclination.” 

“ Then I will not again attempt to point out to you 
the advantages of this marriage, and will only mention 
the disadvantages of a refusal. You will be abso- 
lutely penniless, for I can promise you nothing but 
a home in this house ; no easy thing for you with your 
vaunted pride.” 

“ Don’t promise too much,” I said, sarcastically. 

His heartless manner made it hard for me to con- 
trol my anger. 

He looked at me with a start. 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Oh, I mean that no man is master of his future !” 

“ One of Cousin Himmel’s abominable expressions,” 
he broke in. “ So you stick to your no ?” 


t'OR Another’s wrong. 257 

I do.” 

He no longer made any effort to look jovial. He 
got up, went to all the doors, which he opened and 
closed softly, to see whether any one were listening ; 
then he came close to me. 

“ The honor of your mother as well as your own, 
the existence of you both, are closely bound to my 
honor and my existence. Do you understand that ?” 

“ It is not to be denied, Herr Wollmeyer,” I said. 

“ I thought you would soon drop your sarcastic tone ; 
you have had a soft berth of it here so far.” 

I was silent. To natures like his, food and drink 
and a roof over one’s head, all of the most luxurious 
kind, were everything. 

“ You can’t deny that, can you ? And when you 
think of the time when your mother was a widow, it 
isn’t such a bad thing, after all, to be under Woll- 
meyer’s protection — eh ?” 

“ What were we speaking of, Herr Wollmeyer ?” 

‘‘ Don’t try to evade me. You ought to be able to 
understand me, if you are the paragon of wisdom that 
your mother believes you to be, and if you wish to 
understand.” 

“ I will endeavor to, at all events. The only way of 
settling this discussion is by being perfectly frank.” 

“Well, then, if you refuse to become Brankwitz’s 
wife, the heaviest pecuniary losses will result for me, 
and naturally for your mother, too, as well as for 
yourself.” 

“ I do not understand ; it is not possible !” 


258 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Brankwitz will sever his business connections with 
me. I cannot explain it to you in a few words, and 
I— I—” 

“ Because I will not marry him, he will sever his 
connections with you, his father’s old friend ?” 

“ Yes ; he would never forgive me for letting my 
daughter refuse him.” 

“ Indeed ! Has he told you so ?” 

“ To be sure.” 

“ What right has he to threaten you ?” I asked 
slowly, and looked full at him. 

“ What right ? The right of an insulted, rejected 
man, who loves you passionately. Lovers are unac- 
countable, they are capable of anything.” 

“You were not the one who rejected him !” 

He came nearer to me. 

“ The long and short of it is that our friendly rela- 
tions will be at an end ; he will put the blame upon 
me.” 

“ Excuse me, but you would sell me to so low-minded, 
revengeful a man for your own advantage ?” 

An oppressive pause ensued. I heard only his deep, 
excited breathing. 

“ I don’t wish to hear any more of this,” I said at 
last. “ I am sorry that my refusal will cause you any 
unpleasantness. If I were in your place, 1 should have 
nothing more to do with a man who would make you 
puffer for what is no fault of yours. You can gain 
nothing by his friendship.” 

“ Spare me your school-girl wisdom !” he panted ; 


FOR another’s wrong. 


259 


and his purple face was suddenly thrust close to 
mine. 

I saw his furious eyes and the drops of sweat upon 
his forehead. He had seized my shoulder. 

“ Do you wish to make your mother the wife of a 
beggar ?” he asked hoarsely. 

“ Let me go !” I commanded, for his big hand was 
almost crushing me to the floor. “ Mamma would 
rather beg than see me wretched, I know.” 

And I forcibly flung aside his hand and ran toward 
the door. He seized me by the arm to compel me to 
stay, and with such force that I staggered back and my 
head struck heavily against the carved columns of the 
bookcase. The pain was so severe that I cried out. 

The door was flung open and mamma ran in. She 
was quite beside herself, and stood before her husband 
with uplifted hands. 

“ What have you done ?” she screamed. I collected 
myself and ran over to her to calm her. She pushed 
me hastily aside. “You dared to touch her ?” she cried. 
“ Is it not enough that you treat me as the worst brute 
would not treat his wife ? Must you lift your hand 
against my child also ?” 

He seized her by the shoulders so that she moaned 
with terror. 

“ Be quiet,” he hissed. “ Do you want to have the 
whole household at the door, Helene ? She knocked 
against the bookcase ; I did nothing to her. You don’t 
know what you are saying. Did I hit you ?” he asked, 
peremptorily. “ Yes, or no ?” 


260 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ No,” I answered, with contempt. 

He let mamma go. 

“ Crazy women — stupid, high-flown nonsense !” 

Mamma stood there, still trembling and ready for 
battle. 

“Anneliese shall not marry Brankwitz, because I 
will not allow it !” she cried, shrilly. “ I once let myself 
be bullied into it by you, and I came very near losing 
my child and her love ; but not now. Do you hear — I 
will not — I — ” 

He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with a 
scornful smile. 

“Don’t get heated, Helene. You will both come to 
wish it — be glad to wish it. Only wait !” 

“ Never !” cried mamma. 

“Go downstairs !” he ordered, turning to me. 

“ I will not leave mamma alone. Come with me, 
mamma.” 

“ She will retjiain here !” he thundered, losing all 
self-control and pointing toward the door. 

“ Go !” said mamma. 

He followed me to the stairs to convince himself that 
I had really gone. 

I was thoroughly shaken with grief and anxiety when 
I reached my room. Cousin Himmel was sitting by 
the table and placing candles in an endless number of 
candelabra. 

“ Gott im Himmel^ what is the matter with you ?” she 
cried. 

“ 1 hit myself, cousin,” I said, and dropped into the 


FOR another’s wrong. 


261 


nearest chair. “ For God’s sake be quiet, cousin ! 
Listen — ” 

A door was banged to with a crash, and heavy steps 
echoed above our heads. The old woman looked up 
with a rigid face. 

“ Cousin, go upstairs, I implore you,” I begged ; 
“ protect mamma !” 

She sank her head and did not move. I could hear 
mamma’s high, piercing tones broken with sobs, and 
Wollmeyer’s rapid walking back and forth, and the oc- 
casional moving of a piece of furniture, as he kicked 
it out of his way. 

** Be quiet, quiet, Anneliese,” she murmured. “ I 
cannot go up. You don’t know him ; it would be pour- 
ing oil on the flames.” 

I remained where I was, my head buried in my arms. 
Suddenly mamma’s voice ceased, as though her 
strength had come to an end, and all remained quiet. 
Cousin Himmel calmly went on with her work over 
the candelabra of silver and bronze, as though the 
most important thing in the world was to place in 
them the rose-colored candles which were to illuminate 
the /eU. Not a word, not a question ; she sat there 
like an enigma endowed with life. 

Her work was finished at last, and she took up two 
of the candelabra. 

“ I will carry them upstairs myself, Anneliese, Fried- 
rich is so awkward.” There was a look of determin- 
ation on her face. She remained away an eternity, it 
seemed to me. When she came back, she had a shawl 


262 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


over her shoulders and a scarf on her head, and she 
brought in a breath of fresh air with her as she en- 
tered. I saw by her watering eyes and red nose that 
she had been out of doors. 

I have been to get some sticking-plaster, Anne- 
liese,” she said, ‘ so that no one will notice that ugly 
bruise on your temple, day after to-morrow.” 

She actually drew out a little package from her 
pocket. I stared at her incredulously ; she could think 
of such a thing now ? 

“ What, you went away to the apothecary’s, near the 
post-office ?” I ^sked. 

** Yes, they have the best plaster there,” she ex- 
plained, and felt for a pair of scissors with her stiff, old 
fingers. 

Cousin, you are not telling the truth.” 

“ My darling, I went to the apothecary’s,” she de- 
clared earnestly, as she skillfully adjusted the plaster. 
“ Go to bed, Anneliese, I have still a great deal to do.” 




CHAPTER XVII. 

The next morning, after a deep, dreamless sleep, I 
awakened with a splitting headache and a feeling of 
such utter misery that I lay there in complete exhaus- 
tion. Cousin Himmel sent away my stepfather, who 
wished to speak to me in the early morning ; nor was 
I in any condition to see him. I found mamma sitting 
by my bed when, after a soothing draught, I awoke 
about twelve o’clock. She endeavored to appear 
cheerful and unconcerned. 

“ I must have frightened you terribly, poor child 
— I was so violent last night.” 

I shook my head. 

“ I am only afraid that you are not well.” 

“ Oh, yes, I am ! Do you think that you can come 
upstairs to dinner at three ?” 

I was about to refuse, when I saw how pleadingly 
and anxiously her eyes were fixed upon me, while her 
trembling fingers were interlaced in painful distress. 

Yes, mamma,” I said, “ of course I shall come.” 

I must not leave her, not for an instant. To bear 

[263] 



264 


FOR another’s wrong. 


her sorrows with her was all that was left for me to 
do with my young life, already so desolate. 

“I have sent for the countess; she is to dine with 
us ; it will be less embarrassing. Don’t come up too 
early ; the Brankwitzes — ” 

“ Ah, the Brankwitzes !” 

“ They have already arrived.” 

I nodded, silently. 

Mamma stroked my face and left me. Cousin Him- 
mel helped me to dress. There was a dreadful com- 
motion in the house ; the blows of upholsterers’ ham- 
mers and the distant tuning of the piano went like 
knives through my aching temples. Across the 
usually silent courtyard came people with baskets and 
bundles ; the mail-wagon stopped before the door,* 
and plants were being brought out of the orangery. 
The electric bells, which my stepfather had had put 
throughout the house, sounded every few minutes with 
their shrill, nerve-splitting ringing, occasionally so 
long and sustained that I stopped my ears in desper- 
ation. 

The sun was shining in the clear blue sky, and was 
licking with hot tongue the snow from the church 
roof ; now and then a small avalanche came sliding 
down, and the jackdaws circled about the tower in 
alarm. I opened the window ; a soft, mild breeze was 
wafted in, the premature messenger of spring — a de- 
ceitful whisper, false promise of a better time. How 
far away were spring and happiness ! 

About two o’clock the countess arrived. I went 


FOR another’s wrong. 


265 


out into the hall to meet her ; the place was scarcely 
recognizable in its green attire, and hung with col- 
ored lanterns, banners, and silken pennants. 

Mercy on us !” said the countess. “ It’s really very 
fine. Lene sent for me, chicken. I suppose I am 
needed to stand sponsor for something or other, or else 
I ’ll come in handy as a scarecrow. But how you look ! 
Child, child, you used to be a courageous little thing. 
Head up ! And remember I shall not say a word about 
your affair. I can accomplish more by complete uncon- 
sciousness.” 

She took me by the back of the neck with her big 
hand and shook me a little, as though trying to encour- 
age me. 

“ Now, then, in we go to the diplomatic din- 
ner !” 

My stepfather looked utterly taken aback when the 
countess entered mamma’s boudoir, where Olga Sell- 
mann and her brother were already awaiting me. 

“ Forgive me, my dear Wollmeyer, for dropping in 
on you like this ; but Josephine has a headache to-day 
and isn’t able to cook, so I thought surely the Woll- 
meyers will have an extra plate ; I will take them at 
their word, and find out if it ’s true that they always 
have a place set for me at their table.” 

While she was uttering this philanthropic lie she 
shook Wollmeyer energetically by the hand, bowed dis- 
tantly to the brother and sister, kissed mamma on the 
cheek, and then dropped into a low chair with an air 
of such apparent comfort and cheerfulness that, in 


266 


FOR another’s wrong. 


spite of the pain of the situation, I could not suppress 
a smile. 

I had greeted Olga Sellmann and Otto von Brank- 
witz with a silent inclination of the head, returned my 
stepfather’s angry glance with calmness, and seated 
myself between mamma and Olga Sellmann, without 
taking any share in the conversation. The talk turned 
on quite ordinary matters, political events, the latest 
Berlin gossip, anecdotes and such like. The countess, 
who treated the brother and sister very coolly, and 
looked the other way when she was forced to speak to 
them, turned the talk upon the morrow’s fete^ asked 
whether she might look at the lottery booth and the 
prizes in the banqueting hall. 

Brankwitz turned to her frequently with some ques- 
tion or other, which was always answered very briefly 
but politely. 

“ Do you happen to know Count Arvensleben of 
Roddwitz, countess ?” he asked. 

“ To be sure,” she answered. “ What about him ?” 

“ Oh, nothing ; nothing at all ! I heard him spoken 
of in the coup^ on the way here, did we not, Olga ? The 
Arvensleben estates must be very fine.” 

“ It would be hard to find their equal nowadays,” 
the old lady answered. “ The count has brought them 
up again. When he came into his property, twenty- 
five years ago, matters looked pretty bad, but, thanks 
to his energy and his admirable management, they are 
now in exemplary condition. He is the wealthiest 
landed proprietor in this part of the country.” 


FOR ANOTHER*S WRONC. 


^■67 

Indeed !” said Brankwitz. “ That is saying some- 
thing nowadays, when farming usually means the loss 
of even the money you put into it.” 

“ He has six children,” the countess went on ; “two 
married daughters, one unmarried, and three sons ; 
the eldest is in the Dragoon Guards.” 

“That is apt to come high,” my stepfather mur- 
mured. “The old gentleman must have to dip into 
his pockets pretty freely.” 

He gave Brankwitz a peculiar glance. 

“He keeps a tight rein on them,” said the countess, 
peeling an apple. 

Mamma was very silent, and looked more wretched 
than usual. Olga Sellmann brought the conversation 
round to matters nearer home, and said she thought 
the tickets for the lottery too cheap. A mark — what 
would that amount to ? 

“ I think that for our Westenberg people a mark is 
too high. We don’t have marks by the bushel here,” 
said the countess. 

It was a terrible dinner, and I did not understand 
mamma in the least. It was only a postponement ; we 
could not keep the countess forever. She would soon 
take her departure, and the storm would break with 
new fury, and that pale-faced, irreproachably-dressed 
man might plead himself, perhaps. Then I would — 
Yes, what would I do ? He stared at me incessantly. 
I felt it, although I did not once glance at him. 

“ Anneliese,” the countess called across the table, “ I 
am going to take you away with me afterward. You 


FOR another's wrong. 


m 

must help me a little with my presents for the lottery 
booth. Yes, my dear Wollmeyer, you will be surprised 
to see what I am going to send you ! Highly prosaic, 
but highly practical. But Anneliese will have to help 
me, because Josephine — " 

I smiled. The good countess ! 

“Anneliese, unfortunately — you must forgive me, 
countess — will have to help her mother,” objected 
Herr Wollmeyer. “ I am very sorry, countess, but — ” 

“ I have nothing for Anneliese to do ; everything is 
arranged,” interrupted mamma. 

“ There you see, my dear Wollmeyer !” cried the 
countess, triumphantly. “ So you will come with me, 
child.” 

Dinner was over ; we went into the Turkish room, 
where the coffee stood ready. The gentlemen declared 
that they could not smoke before the ladies, and with- 
drew to Herr Wollmeyer’s study near by. 

“ Bring the coffee to me there, Anneliese,” he com- 
manded. 

I placed two full cups on a tray and sent Friedrich 
with it. Olga Sellmann excused herself. She was 
somewhat exhausted by the journey and needed rest. 
She smiled mockingly as she left us. 

We were left alone in the room, which was already 
growing dusky. The countess went on talking about 
indifferent matters. Mamma strove to enter into the 
conversation, and once, during a pause, she seized the 
old gentlewoman’s hand with a grateful 

“Thank you!” 


FOR another’s WRONO. 


269 


“ You know you can count on me, Lene ; but I don’t 
understand all this deception.” 

“ Oh, I will explain everything^ later on,” answered 
mamma, “and — ” she stopped and sat erect in her 
chair. From the next room — the speaker must have 
stood close to the door — we could hear what was being- 
said as clearly as though it had been in the same room 
with us. 

“ Old Arvensleben is in brilliant circumstances,” my 
stepfather was saying, “ so all question of risk is done 
away with ; ten thousand marks down, a note for 
twenty thousand, two months’ limit. Tell him that, 
the gay young spark !” 

The countess listened involuntarily. Her nose grew 
white and pointed. She looked at the door, then at us. 

“ Sounds penetrate very remarkably here, Lene,” 
she observed, curtly. 

Mamma had started up, but sat down again ; there 
was a strange excitement in her face. 

“ What do you say ?” said Wollmeyer’s voice again. 
“ The devil ! I thought you would be satisfied with 
the business you are doing with my money. How are 
you inconvenienced ? I thought you lived like a 
prince, but I can’t help it if you have gambled away 
your large fortune ; and, besides, you win enough by 
your ventures.” 

“ The half, just the half of what I ’ve been accus- 
tomed to, my dear uncle,” said Brankwitz ; “ and you 
will not give me any more, although I shall be on the 
very verge of ruin if anything happens.” 


tok another's wrong. 


m 

“ Isn’t the half enough ? What can happen ? Do 
you think that old Barenroder will undertake anything 
because that young rake, his son, has shot himself ? 
Don’t imagine any such thing ! The Barenroders are 
already deeply enough compromised through the gam- 
bling suit of the old man’s brother ; they will keep 
quiet enough.” 

The countess rose suddenly. 

“ I am going, Anneliese ; take your mother into 
another room ! Lene, stand up — go to your room !” 
she said, in a whisper, shaking mamma by the shoul- 
ders. The next moment she was gone. 

1 put my arm about mamma. 

“ Come, mamma !” I cried, anxiously, for she was 
staring at the door with such a strange expression. 

Hush !” she whispered, and put her hand over my 
mouth ; with the other she turned out the lamp. Dark- 
ness surrounded us. My head lay in her lap ; I felt 
the shiver that ran through her body from time to 
time. She had twined her fingers in my hair ; it hurt 
me, so tightly did she clutch it, as the conversation 
that she wished to overhear pursued its course. 

“ I must repeat to you, uncle,” said Brankwitz, “ I 
am tired of being pulled about by the nose. Your 
empty promises aren't worth a farthing to me ! I 
can’t undertake anything ; there is no fun in living 
from hand to mouth, and as I see that there ’s no 
prospect of my becoming your son-in-law, why — ” 

Wollmeyer softly opened the door and looked 
out. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


271 


“ Indeed !” he remarked, quietly, leaving the door 
slightly ajar. “ Who says so ?” 

** I have just found the bracelet in my room, with a 
card from Anneliese, informing me that a present had 
been sent to her by mistake, and that she hastened to 
return it to the sender. She had, unfortunately, not 
known his address, or it would have been returned to 
him at once.” 

Wollmeyer made no answer ; he had given a low 
cry of rage. 

“ I have made up my mind to submit to this very 
deplorable fact,” Brankwitz continued. I will leave 
you your daughter, but I must ask for payment of the 
capital.” 

“ What ?” asked Wollmeyer. What capital ?” 

Anneliese doesn’t suit me, after all, but the forty 
thousand thalers suit me every time.” 

“ Forty thousand thalers ?” 

“ Surely you wouldn’t have given her less, uncle ?” 

You are mad !” 

“As to madness, you are the only one who has 
shown any signs of madness.” 

“ How so ?” 

“ You send Cousin Himmel to the mill, leave the girl 
there for weeks, and seem to have forgotten that every 
stone there still cries out the old story. And as if that 
were not enough, you let her remain there after young 
Nordmann appears, your cousin's favorite, the victim 
of the catastrophe, and the object of pity of the whole 
community.” 


272 


FOR another's wrong. 


Pah, that fellow !” 

“ Don’t be too hasty, if you please. At any rate, he 
would be very glad to pay forty thousand thalers for 
certain papers, of which he could make very good use 
just now to remove the stain upon his name.” 

“ You are talking madness ! Forty thousand thalers ! 
You mean to say that these papers are at my disposal 
for that sum ?” 

“ To be sure.” 

“ It ’s too high a price for me, my friend. Come down 
a bit.” 

“ Not a farthing ! You must remember that I don’t 
get Anneliese into the bargain.” 

“ And if I say to you : Keep your papers and go to 
the devil ?” 

“ Then I will obey you, and go straight to Halle to 
Robert Nordman, and say : ‘ Read this letter from Herr 
Wollmeyer to my late father.’ All I need give him is 
the one which runs : 

* Dear Brankwitz — I declared myself insolvent, yesterday, 
so we are all right for the present. Nordmann is done for. I 
empower you to bid eighty thousand marks for the property. 
The sherift’s sale is postponed from Friday, the tenth, to Mon- 
day, the thirteenth. Yours, Wollmeyer.’ 

“ I think that this snows clearly enough that you swore 
before the court that you possessed nothing, by which 
your brother-in-law was ruined, and that such oath 
was false. Nothing can happen to me if Nordmann 
follows the case up. My father is dead, and I can 
make a fresh start somewhere else with the price of 
the letter. I am tired of this dog’s life here.” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


273 


Mamma’s hand pressed so heavily upon my head 
that I could scarcely endure it. There was an instant’s 
silence in the adjoining room, and then the overturn- 
ing of a chair, the outcry of a furious voice, as when 
two are struggling together in mortal combat. 

“ Boy, is this the reward for all I have done for 
you ?” cried Wollmeyer. 

I staggered to my feet. Mamma had thrust me from 
her as she started up. I heard her rush across the 
room. I prepared to follow her, but the door crashed 
to behind her. I heard only her shrill outcry : 

‘‘ It is not true, Bernhard. Say that it is not true !” 
And then her laugh — a wild, convulsive laugh. Never 
shall I forget it. Then the electric bell pealed through 
the house and some one dashed past me, cursing. In 
the deep twilight to which my eyes had now grown 
accustomed, I recognized Brankwitz. 

Then came the servants and lights. Then entreaties 
and soothing words on the part of my stepfather, and 
then Cousin Himmel, assisted by the housemaid, came 
past me, bearing the lifeless form of my mother in her 
arms. 

“ Gracious Frau, dear, gracious Frau !” gasped Cousin 
Himmel. “ Dear, dear !” 

Now I knew all. There was the brand of perjury 
on my stepfather’s forehead. I trembled from head 
to foot. By this oath, he had driven Robert’s father 
into the depths of misery, his wife into her grave, his 
son into a foreign land, and now the curse extended 
over us also — over my poor mother and over me ! 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

All sounds had ceased in the house. I had been 
taken away from mamma's bedside, although I did not 
want to move, but, after a few words. Cousin Himmel 
had succeeded in leading me away. Brankwitz had 
become invisible ; Olga Sellmann was lying in her 
room and reading a novel ; the housemaid was to 
bring her news from time to time. My stepfather 
paced his room restlessly. Servants were scouring 
the town, postponing the fHe^ and the doctor had been 
with mamma for hours. 

I sat alone in my room. What I thought and felt, 
I do not know ; one thing only was clear to me, over- 
poweringly clear, the certainty that mamma was go- 
ing to die, and that I was to be left alone. A fierce 
pain shook me, but I could not cry. 

Merciful God, it is Thy will ! I thought. What 
would she do in a world that no longer holds anything 
for her but sorrow and misery? But take me, too, I 

[274] 


I'Oll ANOtrtER*S WROKC. 


m 

implore Thee ! I kept repeating the last over and over 
again. I implore Thee, I implore Thee ! 

Fearful visions tortured me. I saw Wollmeyer being 
led away in custody ; saw the courtyard filled with 
people — gibing, dreadful people — who pointed their 
fingers at mamma and me, and said : “ They, too, have 
eaten the bread of sin !” — a vision that made me spring 
to my feet and pace the room. 

No one thought of me, and ever more frightful grew 
my fancies. The countess had fled when the little she 
had heard had shown her that Brankwitz was the 
“ swindler " of whom her nephew had spoken, and that 
Wollmeyer was his associate. And that had not been 
the worst. I would be quite, quite alone as soon as 
mamma was taken. Even the countess would for- 
sake me. 

Oh, this awful silence ! I crept through the ante- 
room and peered across the hall. A lamp had been 
lighted, and in its dim light the grinning masks leered 
at me out of the green like hideous spectres. 

If Cousin Himmel were only with me ! If I only 
knew how things were upstairs ! And in the midst of 
all there came to me the thought of Button Marthe, 
who had accused, in her despair, the man who had 
driven her to her death, and the thought of a grave in 
the Thuringian mountains. Wrong, wrong, whichever 
way I might look — heavy, terrible wrong I 

I crouched down in the doorway and awaited news 
of mamma. It was so cold in the hall and so quiet in 
the whole house that death might have already visited 


270 


FOR another’s wrong. 


it. Then came heavy steps down the stairs and my 
stepfather appeared. I got up and went back into my 
room. How terribly he looked, so crushed, so shrink- 
ing, his eyes so glassy! His steps followed me. I closed 
the door, my heart throbbing with dread. 

“ Open the door,” his hoarse voice commanded. 
“Open the door I I must speak with you — for your 
mother’s sake !” 

I obeyed, mechanically, and went trembling to one 
of the windows, as though I should be safe there in the 
dim light that filtered in, and a few paces farther on 
was swallowed up in darkness. 

“ Your mother is very ill,” he began, hoarsely. “ She 
is dangerously ill.” 

“ No wonder,” I answered, half choked. 

“ She has been startled — you know how nervous 
she is.” 

“ Yes, I know ; I know what caused it, for I was with 
her when she learned that — ” 

“ You !” It was the savage cry of a wild beast. 

“ Only kill me — I want nothing better,” I said. 

He remained silent. 

“ Well, then,” he brought out at last, you know all. 
There is no need for me to repeat it. You alone have 
your mother’s life in your hands.” 

“ What use would this life be to her ?” I cried. “ Go, 
leave me !” 

“ This is no time to be theatrical.” 

“ I will not listen to you ! If my mother lives. I will 
take her by the hand, and we will leave this house for-. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


m 

ever. I am young- ; I can work ; she shall not belong 
to a swindler.” 

“ Prove that I am a swindler — prove it !” he cried, 
covering my mouth with his hand. “ I ask you for the 
last time, will you consent to marry Brankwitz or 
not ?” 

I did not answer ; I turned my back upon him. At 
this moment a ray of light fell across the room, and 
my old guax*dian angel placed the lamp on the table 
and clasped my trembling body in her arms. 

Anneliese loves some one else. Wollmeyer, spare 
her any more words !” 

I indignantly released myself from the old woman’s 
arms. 

“ Who says so ?” I cried, trembling. 

“ Who is it ?” asked my stepfather. 

Robert Nordmann — and he loves her,” she declared, 
steadily. “ And if you have any consideration for the 
life of that poor lady upstairs, offer no opposition. I 
am speaking for your own good.” 

“ What can the fellow do to me ?” he stammered. 
“ It is speculation on his part — vile speculation !” 

I pushed Cousin Himmel aside and tried to speak, 
but a hand seemed to be clutching at my throat. 

“ It would be better, Wollmeyer, if you were to be 
more careful in your expressions,” said Cousin Him- 
mel ; “ you may regret them later.” 

His face grew white. 

“ You only wish to threaten me !” he cried. “ Be 
careful ! Let her take him, in the devil’s name, for all 


J-OR another’s wrong. 


I care, and let her be off with him and let me never see 
either of them again !” 

“ You are mistaken. Robert Nordmann will not 
leave this country until he has reestablished his fa- 
ther's good name, which was taken from him by a scoun- 
drel, and I hope, with all my heart, that he will suc- 
ceed !” 

** Anneliese !” cried Cousin Himmel, warningly. 
“ Remember your mother !” 

“ I would give my life for mamma, but 1 would 
never help to hide a crime that ought to be atoned 
for ! It would be better for mamma to die, and — for 
me, too !” 

“ She is crazy !” muttered Wollmeyer, as he walked 
unsteadily out of the room. 

Cousin Himmel had sunk down upon the window 
seat ; she sat there, a shapeless heap, in the dim light. 

Gott im Himmel sobbed, ‘‘Robert will be 
here in an hour ; I telegraphed for him last night !” 

“ What ? What are you thinking of ?” 

“ You have the fate of all of us in your hands ! He 
loves you. If you ask him, he will agree to remain 
silent for that poor lady's sake. Robert's father is 
dead, but your mother is alive, Anneliese. God pre- 
serve her to us ! What is dead, is dead ; he must 
think of the living !" 

“ I ask him ? No ! Not if my heart were to break ! 
I cannot do it. Cousin Himmel." 

A maid came in at this moment. 

“ The gracious Frau is worse," she whispered. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


279 


Come, Anneliese,” said Cousin Himmel ; perhaps 
the sight of her will soften you.” 

I followed her in silence. 

A nurse sat by the bed. Mamma’s beautiful face 
lay deathly white among the pillows. I knelt down 
by the bed and buried my head in the silken coverlet. 
She was unconscious and kept whispering to herself : 
“ Countess, do not forsake Anneliese. Take her away 
— far away from here ! But it isn’t true that he is a 
criminal. Helene Sternberg’s husband, and a criminal ! 
It is absurd.” She gave a low laugh. “ Such silly 
people to say that. He is to receive an order to-mor- 
row, and so many people are coming — so many — more 
and more — still more — they will follow — follow ! No, 
they will stand sponsors. Do you hear, Anneliese ? 
The child need not be ashamed of his parents — no !’* 

I held my hands to my ears. It was almost bodily 
torture to me. Then I sprang up and fled back to my 
room, and cast myself, moaning, upon the sofa. 

“ Mamma ! Mamma ! Stay with me ! Stay with 
me !” 

Suddenly two strong arms were placed about me, 
and I lay against his breast. 

" Anneliese ! My Anneliese !” 

I did not repulse him. I did not even wonder. I only 
sobbed more violently than before : 

Mamma, mamma, I want to die, too ! I cannot live 
without you !” 

He let me cry, and only stroked my hair tenderly. 
Then he began to speak : 


280 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Cousin Himmel telegraphed me to come at once, 
for you were in danger. What is it, Anneliese i Has 
Brankwitz been tormenting you again ? Or do you 
think I have come to harm your mother ? Oh, child, 
how I have struggled with myself, with my conscience, 
with my pride, since that hour of parting when I kissed 
you ! No, Anneliese, have no fear. Your mother lives 
and my father is dead ; and in that other world, if good 
is rewarded and evil is punished, he has recovered a 
thousandfold what men robbed him of here. We will 
try and forget all this. Come with me. The true home 
is where love is. You shall miss nothing across the 
water. Come, Anneliese, say that you will !” 

His words were as soothing as a cradle song to me. 
I had grown quite calm. 

“ Say yes !” he whispered, kissing me. “ Must you 
stop to reflect, Anneliese ?” 

I started away from his arms. Cousin Himmel had 
come in with a light. She had not seen Robert. Her 
eyes were fixed upon the flickering candle. 

“ Annelieschen,” she said, and there was a sob in her 
voice, “your mamma is very ill.” 

And with these few words the terrible truth flashed 
upon me with terrible certainty — no hope ! 

I dashed out of the room. I forgot everything. 
The doctor would not let me in. I crouched among 
the sofa pillows in mamma’s boudoir next to the room 
of death, and listened to the faint sounds that came 
across to me, the whispering and walking to and fro. 

A deadly lassitude overcame me from time to time, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


281 


always interrupted by the terrible recollection of the 
sad present. Once I thought I heard the voices of 
Wollmeyer and the doctor, but I could not succeed in 
keeping fully awake. I started suddenly out of a deep 
sleep ; it seemed as though a gentle hand had caressed 
me ; a cold shudder passed over me ! I was on my 
feet the next instant ; I ran to the door and crossed the 
threshold. 

It was deathly still within. The candles in the can- 
delabra flickered in the wind that came in through the 
open window. A terrible dread fell upon me. I dared 
not go forward. A man was kneeling by mamma’s 
bed, his face buried in the coverlet, his hands clutching 
despairingly at his hair. Mamma was quite still, her 
head thrown back, her eyes half open — ah, and such a 
rigid, hopeless expression on the features ! 

The man arose and walked passed me. I do not 
think he saw me. I stole softly to the bed. 

“ Mamma,” I said gently, “ mamma, are you asleep ?” 

Yes, she was asleep. 




CHAPTER XIX. 

I went downstairs without a tear, without a prayer. 
The servants stood in the hall and looked at me com- 
passionately. Olga Sellmann came toward me with a 
grieved face. I turned my back upon her. Robert 
Nordmann was standing by the window in my sitting- 
room. He turned to me, a quiver passed over his face 
and he held out his arms to me in silence. It meant : 
Come, I will be all to you — father, mother, home — all ! 

“ Mamma is dead !” I said, and walked past him 
He let his arms fall and looked at me sadly. 

I took up a shawl, wrapped myself in it, and seated 
myself in a chair by the stove. All seemed cold and 
dead within me. So we sat together, he and I, in the 
cold room, on that winter’s night. 

“ Mamma is dead. I am grateful for your sympathy. 
You need have no more consideration. Good-by !” I 
meant to say to him, but no sound came from my lips. 

Cousin Himmel came at last ; her face was white 
and drawn. When she saw me, she turned away and 
wiped her eyes. 

“ God has taken much from you, Anneliese !” she 
[282] 7 


FOR another’s wrong. 


283 


said. Then she motioned to her nephew to follow her, 
and they went softly into the adjoining room. I heard 
them whispering together. Cousin Himmel sobbed 
now and then. Suddenly I roused myself and left the 
room. I would go away to the countess ; away from 
the house of that terrible man. I mechanically drew 
the shawl closer about me and stepped out into the 
cold, dark hall ; the clock was just striking six. 

Here stood the countess, and when she saw me she 
took me into the capacious folds of her cloak. 

“ My poor child !” she said. You belong to me 
now. Come, we will go once more to Lene, then we 
will go to my house." 

On the stairs we met Olga Sellmann ; she was in trav- 
elling costume. Behind her, with Brankwitz, walked 
my stepfather, altered almost beyond recognition in 
this one night, bowed, shrinking, his hair much grayer 
than before. He made a slight attempt to assume his 
old air of politeness. But the countess held her head 
stiffly erect and did not notice him. An expression of 
deep alarm spread over his face. He did not venture 
to follow us. 

I kissed mamma’s hand once more. The countess 
could cry bitterly, but I could find no tears. Still sob- 
bing, she followed me downstairs again, just as the 
carriage, with Olga Sellmann’s towering trunks, drove 
out of the gate. My stepfather met us again, and 
again the countess looked away. He stared after us 
with clenched fists, but made no attempt to keep me 
back. 


284 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ There,” said the countess, as she carried rather 
than led me across her threshold. This is your home 
now, as long as I live. It won’t be much longer, to be 
sure, but it’s a refuge for you for the present, my poor 
chick.” 

The first thing I did was to seat myself at the old- 
fashioned writing-desk and write to Robert : 

** Mamma is dead, and you must now have no scruples on my 
account. I thank you for your compassion — for your noble, self- 
sacrificing intention. It has all done me so much good. That 
you may have every happiness is the wish of 

Anneliese.” 

“ May Josephine take this ?” I asked. 

“ To Herr Robert Nordmann, Halle ?” asked the 
countess, reading the address. “ Who is that ? Haven’t 
you told me something about him ?” 

She went away with the letter without waiting for a 
reply. And then, for the first time, I could weep and 
despair and pray, and then despair again. 




CHAPTER XX. 

Oh, that dreadful time ! I was in bed for a few 
days with a fever ; only dimly conscious that some- 
thing terrible had taken place. I felt the weight of 
the calamity in its whole overwhelming force, knew 
that I no longer had anything in the world, and yet I 
could not say what had happened to me. I tried to 
collect myself, tried to ward off the distorted faces that 
bent over me and threatened me, but I was like one 
paralyzed. I could hear mamma’s voice, and tried to 
spring out of bed to go to her, but I felt myself held 
back, and the specters went on grinning at me afresh. 
A peculiar, deep, reverberating sound, which came in 
through the open windows of my little room, first 
brought me to myself. I lay with open eyes and tried 
to think. 

Ah, the bells were being tolled ! When had I heard 
them before — so solemn, so impressive ? When papa 
was buried ! 

“ Mamma !” I cried, and sank back helpless. 

Old Josephine, who was standing by the window, 
turned and looked at me in alarm. Her eyes were 

reddened with weeping. ^ 

[285] 


286 


FOR another's wrong. 


“ The countess is not at home, dear Fraulein. Do 
you wish anything ? Are you thirsty ?” 

“ No, thank you. Can you look across into the 
churchyard, Josephine ?” 

** Yes, to be sure,” she said, but added, hesitatingly : 
** There is nothing to see there, dear Fraulein.” 

“Yes, there is, Josephine. Mamma is being buried.” 

“Dear, gracious Fraulein,” she sobbed, “don’t get 
excited !” and she hastily shut the window, for the 
voices of the singers came floating up : 

** How sweet their rest !” 

Ah, how gladly I granted her this rest beside papa, 
for surely they had laid her beside him ! I folded my 
hands, and a dreamy restfulness, a feeling of exalta- 
tion and solemnity came over me, the blessed con- 
sciousness of knowing that one’s dearest is safe from 
shame and sorrow — safe from all suffering. 

It was so restful, so peaceful here ; there was a large 
engraving over the bureau — Christ standing on the 
waters and holding out a rescuing hand to the sinking 
disciple. There was also a tall, old-fashioned clock, 
upon whose face a figure appeared every hour. I had 
always been secretly afraid of this figure, and I under- 
stood it now for the first time — Death with his scythe, 
which he swung with every stroke. “ Vo7i alien eine 
ist die Deme'' was written between the delicate 
arabesques on the metal face. Death no longer held 
any terrors for me ; he seemed to me to-day the pure, 
full, final chord of the harsh, confused strain that we 


FOR another's wrong. 


m 

call Life ; an accord in which all discords die away in 
sweetness and harmony. Peace, rest, eternal rest ! 

The Countess returned and came to my bed ; she 
had brought with her a few ivy leaves. The tall, 
mournful figure, with the tear-stained face under the 
black veil, bent over me : 

“You are my child now, Anneliese. We will remain 
together ; you will see how well we shall get on.” 

I kissed her hand in silence. 

She went away, to lay aside her bonnet and cloak, 
and then came back and seated herself by my bed 
again. Josephine brought her a cup of hot coffee, 
which she drank. She did not speak, but only looked 
at me searchingly. 

“ Auntie, I am quite well. I can remember every- 
thing,” I said at last. “ Tell me — mamma is laid be- 
side papa ?” 

“ Yes, my darling ; and we will place no stone over 
her grave, Anneliese. We will draw the ivy from 
papa's grave across hers, so that people will know that 
they belong to each other. It shall not be written : 
‘ Here lies Helene Wollmeyer.’ ” 

I nodded silently. 

“ Cousin Himmel was not there. She is ill, perhaps — 
poor old soul. Wollmeyer wore the order that he re- 
ceived yesterday,” she continued, and her lip trembled. 

I felt the blood rush to my head. 

“ Auntie,” I pleaded, “ I cannot listen to that !” 

“ Of course, of course ! We won't talk of him any 
more. Forgive me, my poor child !” 



i .. 

i 

' CHAPTER XXI. 

Weeks had gone by and nothing happened — nothing. 
Herr Wollmeyer went about, a deeply sorrowing, uni- 
versally pitied widower, with crape on his hat and 
sleeve and sorrow in his face. The sorrow in his face 
was undoubtedly genuine. He certainly could not be 
happy, but he could do nothing but wait. I avoided 
seeing him. The countess never received him when 
he came — it was like her, for she could do nothing by 
halves. She hated altogether, or loved altogether. 
Wollmeyer had fallen completely from grace. 

“ I can understand a crime committed in passion — a 
murder,” she said ; “ but usury is something so com- 
mon that I can't find a single thing in its favor, and — I 
hate anything common.” 

The buds were beginning to swell on the lindens, 
and violets were blooming amidst the ivy on the graves 
in the churchyard. The starlings were singing, and a 
delicate, transparent haze quivered over all the bushes. 

The countess was having a spring cleaning ; she 
went about with tucked-up skirts, blue cotton apron, a 
white cloth bound around her head, the feather duster 
1288] 


i^'OR another’s wrong. 


289 

stuck like a dagger into her belt, a huge dusting cloth 
in her hand, and dusted off her nicknacks, her antique 
porcelain figures and other curios ; and I helped her. 

“You see, child,” she said, concluding a lecture that 
she had been giving me on the subject of my too retired 
life, “ you ought to invite some of your friends here. 
You ought to gossip a bit. Youth turns to youth, in 
sorrow as well as in joy. I can’t take the place of a 
chatterbox of eighteen, for, after all, all the gay things 
I have to tell you are old-fashioned nonsense, and the 
rest are episodes in my life, and sad ones for the most 
part. But a little dreaming of the future would do you 
good, dreams of blooming roses and blue summer skies. 
I can’t help you there ; dead branches are all that I 
see in the future. What do you think ? Shall I send 
for Tollen’s Kathe, or for Aennchen Arnstadt, or Marie 
Linden ? ” 

“ Auntie, what in the world should I do with them ?” 
I cried, setting down a nodding Chinese mandarin in 
his place under the mirror. “ What these girls expect 
of the future is very different from what I have to look 
forward to. I, too, see only dead branches.” 

“ At nineteen ? Well, yes, child, it ’s natural enough 
just now, but the dead branches contain the sap that 
makes the flowers and fruit later on. Child, child, the 
worst thing of all is to lose one’s courage ! You must 
not ! No, let me go on ; I must scold you. If you 
were to cry the whole night through, if you went and 
sat every day beside mamma's grave, if, in a word, you 
gave vent to your grief, I should not be in the least 


290 


FOR another’s wrong. 


worried about you. But you don’t do that. You get 
up as though nothing had happened to you ; you sit 
by the window and sew, as though you had sat there 
all your life ; you talk to me as though no terrible 
trial had come to you. Any one who did not know 
you would think you absolutely heartless. You don’t 
even change a muscle even now ; but I know that you 
are not heartless. I see by your altered face that you 
take it a thousand times harder than others would. 
It 's unnatural, Anneliese ! You are like a dead per- 
son. You must rouse yourself ; you must learn how to 
feel pain again. It can’t go on like this. Apparent 
death soon ends in real death. You can’t go on living 
with a dead heart. I would rather have you selfish 
and forward and intolerable than as you have been 
during these past ten weeks !” 

Auntie,” I said, “ how can I ? I look about the 
world, and I find that there is nothing worth crying 
over — nothing to laugh over, either. It is well as it 
is ; let me be ; I don’t suffer, at all events.” 

She stopped short in front of me. 

“ You are a horrid little thing, Anneliese ; you are 
not worth loving. You don’t think of me at all.” 

I looked at her. She had tears in her eyes. 

“ Dear auntie !” I said, in dismay. “ Oh, auntie !” 
And all at once it became clear to me what a world of 
true, honest love I possessed in her. “ Forgive me ; 
you are my all now,” I faltered ; “ I will — only be pa- 
tient — I will be different.” 

“ Never mind, chicken !” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


291 


Don’t send me away, auntie — not yet ; I could not 
do anything now.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! How you take it, child ! I send 
you away ? As long as I have a bit of breath left in 
me, you can stay here ; but you must rouse yourself ; 
you must look over the things mamma has left you ; 
you must bring them here, papa’s picture, and so on, 
and you must also ask Wollmeyer to be allowed to re- 
main here.” 

“Ask him, auntie?” 

“ Why, yes ! He is your guardian and your step- 
father.” 

The old lady had chosen the right means of rous- 
ing me. 

“ What have I to do with that man ?” I cried. 

She remained quite calm and pulled at the lace cur- 
tains. 

“ He has been here several times, and has asked 
Josephine each time when you were coming back to 
him. Yesterday, when you were at the churchyard, 
watering the flowers, I met him in the hall ; I thought 
when the bell rang that it was the butter woman, and 
opened the door myself. He sat down in the garden- 
room, and spoke of his desolate home, and said that he 
longed for you. I was inwardly shaking with anxiety, 
but I said very quietly : ‘ The child is still much too 

ill ; let her remain here for the present.’ ‘ I cannot,’ 
he said. ‘ 1 must fulfill my dear Helene’s last wishes ; 
a few moments before her death she made me promise 
to be a true father to Anneliese.’” 


292 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ He lies !” I cried furiously. “ I will not go to him — 
never, never ! Oh, auntie, help me ! But this man is 
nothing to me ; how can he force me ?” 

“Anneliese, listen ! I told him plainly enough that 
you wished to remain here at present. He smiled, 
rose, made one of his remarkable, quadrangular bows, 
and took his departure. What he means to do now, 
heaven only knows.” 

The bell rang at the same instant and Josephine 
brought in a letter. 

“From him,” I cried, and supporting myself against 
the table, I tore open the envelope and unfolded the 
letter. The very opening alarmed me. 

‘‘My Dear Daughter and Ward: 

“ I summon you hereby to return to my house. It was your 
mother’s express wish, which she enjoined upon me, on her 
death-bed, that you should return to my protection. 

“ I shall expect you very shortly. I leave it to you to fix upon 
the day. With fatherly greetings, your guardian, 

“Bernhard Wollmeyer.” 


I had not expected this. 

“ I will not go,” I said despairingly, as I handed the 
letter to the countess 

“Poor child !” she murmured, seating herself in an 
arm-chair, and puckering her forehead into a thousand 
wrinkles. “ You are nineteen ?” 

“Yes. Old enough to know what I want.” 

“ To be sure, my chick ; but the law !” 

“ Law ?” I asked indignantly. “ Is there any law 
that gan compel me to liyg with a rogue ?” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


293 


“ No, Anneliese ; but you must first prove that he is 
a rogue.” 

Auntie, you know as well as I do that — ” 

Yes, I know that he carries on a low business ; at 
least so I understood him ; but I cannot prove it, and 
neither can you.” 

I shall run away ; but this time no one shall find 
me !” I cried, with a return of my old spirit. 

“ Wait a bit, first. I will ask my lawyer about it,” 
said the countess. “ I will go at once.” And she 
called across the hall for her mackintosh and rubbers. 

Shortly after, she started down the broad, ill-paved 
street, in the middle of the road. She despised the 
narrow sidewalk, for one either had to be jostled or 
step aside into the gutter, and to-day these gutters 
were flowing brooks. 

During the countess’s absence I sat in my room, my 
heart hot and desperate, and fought against this com- 
mand of my stepfather’s with all the strength of my 
soul. 

Auntie came back in an hour. She looked pale, and 
there was a red spot on her right cheek. 

I went as far as the hall to meet her. I took her hat 
and shawl and looked anxiously into her face, but she 
did not speak. At last, when she reached her room, 
she said, shortly, pretending to have something to do 
to the bird-cage : 

There is no help for it, child ; you must go.” 

I said nothing, but I was firmly resolved not to go. 

That it was your mother’s last wish is a lie on the 


294 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


face of it,” she went on. “ Nor does it affect the mat- 
ter in the least ; but you cannot leave his, home with- 
out his consent before you are of age.” 

And if I were to run away in spite of it ?” 

“ I asked the lawyer what could be done to you if 
you — if I took you away secretly, to Hamburg, for in- 
stance.” 

Yes, auntie, do, please — please take me away !” I 
interrupted, pleadingly. 

“ He took a book from the table,” she went oh, with- 
out noticing my cry, “ and read me something aloud. 
It was something like this, child : * Whosoever at- 

tempts by craft, threats or force to remove a minor 
from his guardian, makes himself liable to punish- 
ment, according to paragraph so and so of the Penal 
Code.’ ^ How so, my dear solicitor ?’ I asked. ‘ A 
fine ? If so, I will — ’ ‘ Excuse me, countess,’ he in- 

terrupted, taking a pinch of snuff between thumb and 
forefinger, * it is not to be settled with money ; you 
will have to go to prison !’ And he stuffed the snuff 
up his nose, as though going to prison were nothing 
at all.” 

“ Auntie !” I cried, in horror. 

“ Yes, my darling ! So, you see, I cannot help you 
now.” 

“ Of course — of course !” I faltered. 

Then he asked me if I were related to you. But 
I am not related to you, poor child, or I should have 
the right to propose before the court of chancery that 
you b^ declared of age ; but as it is—” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


295 


Auntie jerked her cap from one ear to the other 
with an angry gesture, took up her knitting, and the 
needles were soon clicking together, fortissimo. 

Anger and fear were struggling within me. 

“ It is all the result of that hasty marriage,” the 
countess grumbled. “ If Lene, in her anxiety about 
you, had not jumped headlong into the mire, things 
would be very different now ; you would still have 
your mother. Yes, I am sure of it, for the way in 
which he tortured her has only just become clear 
to me.” 

I covered my face with my hands. What had my 
mother not suffered ! 

“He will torture you now, and we know it and can’t 
prevent it. Oh, I wish the flood would come and 
sweep away the whole miserable race of men !” The 
countess was such a religious, pious soul, that these 
words sounded very remarkable, coming from her. 
“ If we could only foresee the end !” she went on ; “I 
mean, of your stay at Wollmeyer’s. You can’t stand 
it for two years ! If you only had an opportunity of 
marrying ! But who is there in Westenberg that you 
could marry ? No one ! A few unfledged young law- 
yers who still live on their fathers. Steinberg is en- 
gaged to Kathe Tollen ; and the deacon and you would 
be about as well suited as a catechism and a book of 
lyric poems. Ah, child, it ’s a hopeless matter !” 

There was only one who would get Wollmeyer’s 
daughter, I thought to myself. 

“ To be sure, there will be plenty who would like 


296 


FOR another’s wrong. 


your money, or rather Wollmeyer’s,” she went on ; 
“ you are his heiress now, I suppose ?” 

And I thought to myself again : If you only knew, 
auntie, whom the money belonged to in the sight of 
God and justice. 

“ They will be after it,” she continued. “ Some beg- 
garly landowner or lieutenant, or some one like Brank- 
witz. H'm, that Brankwitz !” And after a long pause 
of furious knitting she said, with a sigh : “ Here you 
are nearly nineteen, and you haven’t gone through 
your first love affair, poor child !” 

I grew scarlet, and involuntarily pressed my clasped 
hands together. 

“ Why, how red you have grown, Anneliese ?” 

“ Have I ?” I stammered. 

She looked at me searchingly, incredulously. 

“ God forbid !” she murmured. 

All at once I began to sob, so violently, so bitterly, 
that I lost all control over myself. I flung myself at 
the startled countess’s feet and buried my head in the 
folds of her dress, while my whole frame shook. 

“ Oh, if you only knew ; if you only knew !” I burst 
out. ‘‘ Why did mamma not take me with her ?” 

She let me have my cry out. 

“ What is it, Anneliese ?” she said at last, gently 
stroking my head. 

I went on sobbing softly, but did not answer. 

“ Well ?” she asked. 

“ Oh, auntie, don’t ask me ! I could not tell you.” 

** Never mind, if you don’t want to tell me. I never 


FOR another’s wrong. 


297 


tease people to tell their secrets. I only thought that 
it might do you good to speak out.” There was no 
trace of irritation in her words. “ Be good, Anneliese ; 
stand up,” she added kindly. “ There is no use running 
your head against a wall, and the good Lord still 
lives.” 

There is no use running your head against a wall ! 
I would not believe that that detestable man had the 
right to force me to return ; and yet so it was. There 
was no help for it, at least no legal help, and the 
countess implored me not to run away, “ for,” she ex- 
plained, he has the right to deprive you of all means 
of subsistence ; he can torture you and oppress you in 
every possible way.” 

“ I won’t run away from your house, auntie, either 
to-day or to-morrow,” I said, but there is, there must 
be some way of escape — don’t deprive me of all hope.” 

Toward evening, three days after the receipt of his 
letter, Wollmeyer came for me. The countess did not 
make her appearance. But in my room she had 
hugged me until I had no breath left. “ In case of 
need you know where I live,” she said, in an unusually 
low voice ; “ there are times when I am not afraid of 
the devil himself. God watch over you, my child !” 

The April sun was still high in the heavens, as I 
walked beside Wollmeyer through the narrow streets. 
I had not cried ; I had relapsed into the gloomy, rigid 
defiance that had possessed me since mamma’s death, 
and that pained and tortured even me. In order to 
show people that he stood upon the best of terms with 


298 


FOR another’s wrong. 


me, Herr Wollmeyer kept up a continual flow of 
friendly talk. I looked at the paving-stones, and made 
no reply. The soft breeze blew my long crape veil 
against his shoulder. I pulled it back, as though the 
man were poison. 

“Why, why !” he said, with a smile. 

As I entered the house where I had spent my child- 
hood — saw the hall where I had played ; the stairs, 
up and down which my father had gone so often in 
those happy days ; the door at which mamma had 
knocked so often in those last sad months, when she 
came to see me — my composure threatened to forsake 
me. To Herr Wollmeyer’s surprise, I left him stand- 
ing in the hall and went at once toward my old rooms. 
Cousin Himmel was there — thank God ! Thank God ! 

“ Why, Annelieschen,” she said, as I threw myself 
into her arms, trembling and sobbing, “ you mustn’t 
cry ; you are going to stay with me ! I will take care 
of you a thousand times better than ever before, my 
bird !” and she took my hat from me and brought me 
a glass of water. 

“ Look, there is papa’s picture ; and the garden is so 
beautiful, you can’t believe how beautiful ; there has 
not been such a budding of trees for years ! Just look 
out of my window !” 

What did I care for the budding of the trees ? I 
shook my head and seated myself on the window seat ; 
she went to her room, and came back with a photo- 
graph. 

“ Is it good ?” she asked. 


F'ok Another’s wrong. 


^99 


My heart beat so loudly that I thought I could hear 
it, as I saw the speaking likeness of Robert, in his trim 
uniform ; the grave, handsome face turned full upon 
the gazer, as though he were saying : “ Look at me as 
much as you like ; I can stand your glance.” 

I laid the picture apon the table and looked at the 
old woman, whose conduct lately I had not in the least 
understood. 

“Cousin,” I said, “why didn’t you come to see me 
once all the time I was at the countess’s ?” 

She sank her head and fumbled with her apron- 
strings. 

“ I could not get away, Anneliese ; I could not leave 
the house.” 

“ Dear cousin, you surely were not afraid that any 
one would carry off all our precious belongings ? What 
could happen ? What were you afraid of ?” I laid 
my hand on her shoulder ; she looked terribly care- 
worn. 

“ Yes, to be sure,” she murmured, “ but I could not 
go away.” 

“ Has he forbidden you ?” 

“ Oh, no, Anneliese, no ! On the contrary, he asked 
me once whether I meant to become rooted to my 
room. But — I could not go !” 

“ Is it true that Brankwitz has gone ?” 

“ Why, Anneliese, don’t you know ? He is in Amer- 
ica. The night that your mamma died, the three of 
them, your stepfather, Brankwitz and Olga Selim ann, 
sat together behind closed doors and held a consulta- 


300 


t'OR AJ^OtHER's WROKC. 


tion. They had high words, but after a while things 
grew more peaceful. Frau Sellmann was the first to 
go away, and Herr von Brankwitz left us on the day 
of the funeral. He came back once again and they 
had another long talk, and at last he went away on the 
Hamburg express. Wollmeyer said he was going to 
San Francisco. ‘ I sha’n’t set eyes on him again,’ he 
said, but he sighed after he had said it. What for, 
Anneliese ? He had made him harmless ; all things 
can be bought with money, and if one offers some- 
thing for a thing, some one else offers still more. The 
long and short of it is, Brankwitz is provided for, and 
gotten out of the way.” 

He has bought the papers from him, I thought, and 
Robert has one proof less. 

“ Oh, cousin, how will it be here ? I cannot endure 
it !” I looked wearily about the room, which seemed 
like a prison to me. “ I shall die soon, cousin, and 
that will be the best thing for me.” 

“ God forbid !” she cried. “ All things come to an 
end, good and bad as well — you must live, long and 
happily !” 

“ Happily ?” I laughed outright. “ Listen, cousin — 
there comes my happiness !” 

Herr Wollmeyer’s heavy steps sounded in the ante- 
room. I pressed my handkerchief tightly in my hands 
and gave him a dark look. He entered and glanced 
around rather uncertainly for me. 

‘‘ I merely wish to tell you how I wish our future in- 
tercourse to be regulated,” he began. Of course, I 


FOR another’s wrong. 


301 


expect no consideration from you. You have never 
given me reason to do so ; but I expect you, at least, 
to observe the outward proprieties. We will, there- 
fore, take our meals together ; excuses such as head- 
aches and other absurd pretexts, which your dear 
mother accepted, will not be accepted by me. Your 
walks will be taken in my company ; you may receive 
your friends — your mother’s rooms are at your dis- 
posal for that purpose ; you may also return these 
calls, but you must put an end to the arbitrary carry- 
ing out of whatever happens to enter your head, my 
dear Anneliese, as long as you remain under my care. 
For the rest — ” 

I looked at him from head to foot — he was presum- 
ing to set down the law to me ! 

He grew a shade paler. 

“ For the rest,” he went on, “ you need have no fear 
that I shall ever again attempt to provide you with an 
assured future. When you are of age, you are at lib- 
erty to bestow your hand and heart upon whom you 
please, unless you prefer to earn your bread as a gov- 
erness, in poverty and pride. As long as I have any 
duties toward you, however, I must request obedience. 
But we need .have no unpleasantness on that account ! 
It is always well to know where one stands.” He 
laughed, as he always used to, after such phrases, but 
the laugh had a different ring in it. “That you may 
see that you have not such a terrible future to look 
forward to, I will tell you and Cousin Himmel that we 
will pass Whitsuntide at the mill— I still say ‘ at the 


302 


FOR another’s wrong. 


mill’ — at the castle, of course. Cousin Himmel had 
better sit down and invite Herr Nordmann in my 
name. It’s absurd to let the quarrel last forever ; it 
was a silly, boyish prank, his running away. What did 
you say, Anneliese ?” he broke off. 

I had said nothing, but had laughed nervously at 
my stepfather’s colossal hardihood. Cousin Himmel 
stood by the table, silent, and with bowed head. 

“You laughed? It is enough to make one laugh, 
indeed, to see how I have let myself be brought round ; 
but it makes a man as soft as wax when he has gone 
through so terrible a sorrow, when he has given his 
dying wife a promise ; a promise that was demanded 
as a last proof of love. It concerned you and the boy 
— do you understand ?” 

He reached out playfully to tweak my ear ; I pushed 
away the plump hand roughly. “ You think me very 
silly, or—” 

“ Dreadfully in love,” he supplemented teasingly, as 
I paused, and wdnked at me. “ My dear Anneliese, 
people don’t kiss each other in a sleigh on a dark win- 
ter morning unless they are very much in love — you, 
at least, would not kiss a man in that way, unless you 
meant to marry him.” 

I was speechless, and felt a flame spread over my 
cheeks. I stood there bewildered, aghast, unable to 
say a word in reply. My precious, sacred secret in this 
man’s possession ! 

“ I will not disturb you any longer,” he said, and a 
secret triumph echoed in his voice. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


303 


Good night, dear Anneliese.” 

As the door closed behind him I covered my face 
with my hands. A fierce rage overcame me. 

“You, you !” I cried to Cousin Himmel. “ Oh, how 
could you do it !” 

The wrinkled old face looked up at me in per- 
plexity. 

“ You have betrayed me, betrayed as both ! You 
are bad, as bad as all the rest ! And do you know what 
that kiss meant ? A parting forever. And you — ” 

“ Anneliese, listen to me ; dear Anneliese,” the old 
woman pleaded. “ It was the day before your mother 
died. You don’t know what a state of mind she was in 
on your account. She had me come to her that morn- 
ing and made me swear to strengthen you in saying No 
to Wollmeyer when he besieged you about Brankwitz. 
I saw how she was torturing herself, and I tried to 
comfort her. ‘ Have no fear, gracious Frau,’ I said, 
Anneliese is in good hands. Anneliese has found the 
one she loves.’ But she shook her head, for she did 
not believe me, and said that if it were true you would 
have told her. I said to her : ‘ I saw them kiss each 
other and I told her how it had come about and what 
a fine, noble young man he is ; but that there was 
much to be overcome before you could come to- 
gether.” 

“ I don’t understand you, cousin,” I interrupted her, 
shaking my head, “ for you must have known — ” 

“ If your mother had lived, he would not have taken 
any further steps. You know that, Anneliese. He told 


304 


FOR another’s wrong. 


you so himself. But you sent him away, and he has 
gone and has not spoken a single word about you.” 

“ That is quite right of him,” I said. ** What would 
he do with me as long as the weight he had come here 
to cast off remained on his soul ? I cannot give him 
back his father’s honor or take the place of his country. 
Please, cousin, don’t say any more. He knows as well 
as I what he ought to do. And if he forgot everything 
on that terrible night — his father, his home, all — for 
the sake of my mother and to save me from this man, 
it would be a piece of generosity which I should be 
ashamed all my life long to have accepted.” 

“ But if Robert wants to forgive ?” 

“ He cannot do that, dear Cousin Himmel, for he has 
no right to. His future wife, whoever she may be, can 
demand an unsullied name. His children would not 
thank him for this weakness. And now I will tell you 
something more, dear cousin. If you have the neces- 
sary proofs of Wollmeyer’s guilt and conceal them, you 
are his accomplice. That is my opinion.” 

Gott im Himmel cried the old woman. “What 
do you mean, Anneliese ?” 

“ And if you have anything in your possession — and 
you have — then send it to him ; the sooner the better. 
You will scarcely have a chance of speaking with him 
yourself at the mill. He will not come ; that is one 
thing certain.” 

I stopped. The door had closed in the next room. 

“ Anneliese, he has been listening !” cried the old 


woman. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


305 


** Well, then he knows where he stands.” 

“ Anneliese, if you knew how he watches me, and 
spies on me, and doesn’t let me out of his sight. He 
knows that I side with Robert, and knows what influence 
I have with him, and that is why he treats me well, in 
spite of all ; that is why he wants us to go to the mill, 
so that we may meet Robert there.” 

“ Then he must believe that you have something in 
your possession ?” 

She looked away and was silent. 

“ He knew that Hannchen had something of the 
kind,” she admitted, at last. 

“ His wife knew of his crime ?” I cried. ** Hannchen 
knew of it ?” 

“Ah, she knew everything, Anneliese, and it almost 
killed her. You see, when the warrant was issued 
against Nordmann — it is hard to speak of it, child ; 
Wollmeyer himself had accused the fugitive Nord- 
mann of having stolen his son’s papers — Hannchen 
came very near going mad, because — ” Cousin Him- 
mel lowered her voice to the faintest whisper — “ be- 
cause he was the thief himself, Anneliese ! He had 
taken the poor little papers from Hannchen’s trunk at 
night when, he thought, the good soul was asleep. 
The oaken chest stood in the sitting-room, next to her 
bedroom, and she woke up and crept out and saw him 
rummaging among her things. She was taken dread- 
fully ill that very night, and when she came to herself, 
two weeks later, the terrible thing had happened ; it 
had appeared in all the newspapers.” 


306 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ And the wife— the poor wife ?” I faltered. 

“ I don’t know what she said to him ; she said noth- 
ing to me ; not until later did I learn a few facts. But 
she was never well from that day ; the child, Robert, 
she loved, almost idolized, as though she must make up 
to him for the wrong done his parents.” 

“ Well, and the warrant ?” 

“ Ah, Anneliese, Wollmeyer prudently contrived not 
to have it issued until the poor man had been lost sight 
of in America.” 

“ It is terrible, cousin ! And that other terrible 
thing — the bankruptcy — did Hannchen know that 
also ?” 

“ By accident she came to know of this crime, too. 
Ah, Fraulein Anneliese, what didn’t we poor women 
have to go through from that day ! I thought the 
woman would die before my eyes when she found the 
thing in looking through an old desk. It was just be- 
fore we left the mill to come here. Wollmeyer had 
himself packed his papers in a box which he had 
bought for this very purpose ; he was always so care- 
ful about his letters and books ; not a soul, Hannchen 
least of all, was allowed near his desk. One day she 
came into my room with shaking knees and ashen face. 
You know the gable room where the linden looks in at 
the window. I was sitting there, resting a bit, for I 
had been hard at work, packing up. ‘ Dorchen ! 
Dorchen !’ she gasped. ‘ Oh, all-merciful God, what 
have I done to be punished like this ! Is it not enough 
that he has robbed the child and branded the father as 


FOR another’s wrong. 


307 


a thief ? And now this, too ! I shall never have an- 
other happy moment in my life, for, Dorchen, every 
bit of bread we eat is wrongfully come by.’ You can 
imagine, Fraulein Anneliese, that my heart stood still 
with horror when I heard this. I cannot tell you what 
the poor thing suffered in the years that followed. At 
first she tried to move him to confess his wrong — she 
went down on her knees to him. He denied every- 
thing ; he threatened to send her to the mad-house, 
and, when that was of no avail, he struck her. He 
ordered her to give him back the paper she had found, 
and said that she had completely misunderstood it. 
And as to Robert’s property, he declared it was pure 
madness, for at that time she was lying ill with a fever 
and had been desperately ill. But she did not give it 
to him. She lied to him and said that she had burned 
it. In reality she carried it around with her, sewed 
into a pocket. He opened boxes and trunks with a 
false key in search of the paper ; but he found nothing. 
And she — she had not the courage to denounce the 
man she had married, the father of her dead child. 
But they were separated forever. She could never 
bring herself to speak a friendly word to him again. 
She paid no heed to his talk, his high-sounding words, 
his would-be fine manner, his position here. He 
scarcely dared say a word, when he was alone with her 
— he has found out what contempt means.” 

The old woman was in full flow of conversation. 
She was seated beside me on the window seat, and as 
she talked, she rolled her apron-strings into little wads. 


308 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Cousin,” I said, “ so it is true that he ruined the 
Nordmanns by a fraudulent bankruptcy ?” 

She nodded. 

“ He had had a few losses, but what did that mean to 
wealth like his ! Brankwitz had appeared at that 
time, and he may have first made the devilish proposi- 
tion, and Wollmeyer was weak where money was con- 
cerned.” 

** And Nordmann knew that, of course, and accused 
him ?” I asked. 

“Yes. Wollmeyer had declared under oath that he 
had nothing ; that he had lost everything. And then, 
out of revenge — look you, out of revenge — he branded 
Nordmann as a thief.” 

“And when his wife learned this, with the knowledge 
of this crime, she could live with the man ? Could eat 
his bread and breathe the air of his house ? If I had 
been in Frau Hannchen’s place, that very hour I should 
have—” 

“ If you had been in Frau Hannchen’s place, you 
would not have done so,” the old woman interrupted 
calmly and decidedly, “because, Fraulein Anneliese, 
she had loved her husband. Do you know what it 
means to a woman to love ? It means to bear all, to 
suffer all, tremble for him, pray for him, sacrifice 
oneself, place oneself on the pillory to save from insult 
and shame the man one has loved in happier days.” 

She was silent for a moment. Then drawing a long 
breath, she continued : 

“ I shall never forget the day that she sat beside him 


J'Ok ANOTHER*S WROKC^. 


m 


in her white dress under the linden. I did not know of 
the troth they had just plighted. I stepped softly to 
the door, because I thought — because — ” 

She stopped again. 

“ Cousin Himmel,” I asked anxiously, “ is anything 
the matter with you ?" 

“ Nothing — only I have never told a living soul what 
1 am going to tell you now, so that — so that you won’t 
think—” 

“ Cousin,” I begged, “ don’t tell me if it is hard for 
you. I know you despise him.” 

“Yes; but let me speak, Annelieschen,” she went on 
steadfastly. “ It will do my old head good. I say that 
I came softly to the door because I thought that my 
lover was waiting for me. You look at me in amaze- 
ment ? Yes, yes, Annelieschen, I, too, had a lover, 
upon whose faith I would have risked all. I was pretty, 
I believe, although I was six-and-twenty, but poor — 
poor as a church -mouse ; and so, he said, we must wait 
and keep our secret until he got a better place and 
better pay. I was satisfied, and, poor orphan that I 
•was, I was unspeakably happy in my secret love. On 
the day of which I speak, I had been working hard all 
day, for there had been a great deal of Whitsuntide 
company at the mill, but my fingers seemed to fly 
thrv ugh my work, for I knew that it would be so pleas- 
ant in the evening sitting beside him up there on the 
edge of the forest where we always met, with his arm 
around me, the arm that was to support me through 
all the rest of my life. Ah, Annelieschen, you know 


310 


FOR another's WRONC. 


so much better than a poor old woman can describe 
how sweet love and hope together can be. I did not 
step out of the house that evening because my love 
was not waiting for me, but sat by another. My lover, 
who had foresworn his hope of Heaven if he ever 
proved untrue to me, sat beside Hannchen and called 
her ‘ his own ’ and ‘ his darling,’ as he once called me.” 

“Cousin!” I cried, indignantly, “ Wollmeyer was 
your — ” 

“ Yes, Anneliese. I did not rush upon them and 
tear them apart — oh, no ; I sank down upon the 
threshold, and I don’t remember now what I thought 
at first, or what I resolved to do. Possibly I made up 
my mind to say to Hannchen : ‘ Your lover is a faith- 
less man, a rogue ; he has deceived us both.’ But I 
did not do it. Plainly, oh, so plainly, Hannchen’s 
happy words rang in my ears. It seemed to her, she 
told him, as though some one had just made her a 
present of the whole world, and she had loved him at 
first sight. And how silly he had been to be afraid of 
her money ! She was so glad that she had it, and now 
they would manage the business so industriously and 
honestly ; it had been his conscientiousness and diffi- 
dence that had pleased her. Ah, and I don’t know 
what else she said in her new-born happiness. She was 
just eighteen. And just as he had done with me, he 
did with her. He took her in his arms, and called her 
his dearest in all the world.” 

The old woman paused ; the room was very still. I 


FOR another’s wrong. 


311 


had involuntarily clenched my fist. Oh, this man 
this dreadful man ! 

“And,” went on the old woman, “ what I wanted to 
say, Anneliese, is that it was with Hannchen as it was 
with me, when she found out what sort of a man he 
was — she kept silent. You cannot accuse a man you 
have once loved ; you cannot, Anneliese. You can 
learn to despise him, and that is terrible enough, but 
you cannot find the courage to expose him. A thou- 
sand hands seem to hold you back. I could not tell 
Hannchen ; could not find a word of reproach for him, 
and afterward, when he brought misery upon his wife, 
his wife’s sister and her husband, and I, forgetting 
everything, was about to disclose the crime, Hannchen 
kept me back. ‘ Have pity !’ she pleaded. ‘ If he were 
to be sent to prison, I should kill myself ! — ” 

She broke off suddenly and turned her head away. 
I, too, remained silent a long time. The old, grief- 
worn woman appeared in an entirely new light to me. 
What she must have suffered, first through the loss of 
her lover, and then in despising him — and yet always 
having to be with him, having to look on at his early 
married happiness, his fall, his moral decadence, his 
hypocrisies. Was it possible to endure all this without 
failing in body and mind ? What a power of resist- 
ance, what greatness of soul dwelt in this simple 
woman ! I had never seen her otherwise than doing 
her duty quietly and industriously ; her life was spent 
in doing for others. 


312 


FOR another’s wrong. 


I drew nearer to her and stroked her withered 
cheek ; she wiped her eyes, and, making an effort to 
control herself, she said : 

“ Yes, yes, Annelieschen, you laugh, perhaps, at poor 
old wooden Cousin Himmel ? But no, not you ! And 
now I will go to the kitchen and make you the finest 
salad that ever you ate in your life.” 

I wound my arms about her neck. 

** Cousin Himmel, you are the best and dearest old 
soul in the world, and if I had been madly in love with 
Wollmeyer up to now, after hearing your story, I 
should hate him with all my heart. But, now that you 
have told me so much, cousin, you must tell me more. 
Does the proof that Hannchen found still exist?” 

Yes ; and also a bit of writing of Hannchen’s, in 
which she confesses what was done with Robert Nord- 
mann’s money. But she desired that it should be used 
only in the most extreme necessity, if he refused to 
make compensation to Robert Nordmann. But now 
don’t ask me any more, Anneliese.” 

Does he know this ?” I asked, notwithstanding. 

“ He suspects it, at all events.” 

Cousin Himmel, you are a good angel, but in one 
respect you have failed. When you saw that he was 
paying his court to mamma you should have inter- 
fered.” 

She smiled sorrowfully. 

“ As truly as I loved your dear mother, and as I love 
you and Robert, Anneliese, I never thought he would 


FOR another’s wrong. 


313 


have the audacity to' do such a thing. Not until the 
last, the very last, did I notice it, and then I went to 
him and tried to bring him to reason ; but it was too 
late ; it was already done, and I went down to my room 
again in silence. Believe me, it was not easy for me to 
look on and see.” She nodded at me gravely. Then 
she left the room, and I heard her rattling her bunch 
of keys outside. 




CHAPTER XXII. 

The days that now followed were the saddest of my 
life. I had but the one thought : When would the 
reckoning come for this man, beside whom fate had 
placed me — the very thought of whom filled me with 
disgust and loathing ? 

** ‘ Revenge is mine,’ the Lord has said,” said Cousin 
Himmel, trying to comfort me. “We cannot be his 
accusers.” 

Ah, there are frightful martyrdoms to be endured in 
this world ! Those meals with Wollmeyer ! We kept 
silence, as though a word would have been a crime 
punishable with death ; only the clatter of the knives 
and forks and the not always mannerly sounds which 
my stepfather made in eating. 

His appetite had not diminished ; he looked very 
much better — indeed, and he was regaining his good 
spirits. He railed at Friedrich when the wine was not 
properly cooled, and dishes that did not suit him were 
sent back to Cousin Himmel with his compliments. 
He ordered me to go walking with him, and I had to 
[314] 


FOR another’s wrong. 


315 


go with him to mamma’s grave and admire the atro- 
cious weeping angel he had had placed there against 
my wishes. Every one approaches his mother’s grave 
with reverence, but in my stepfather’s company this 
reverence was changed into a wild pain, a longing for 
revenge, and I returned home ill and exhausted. 

As far as was possible, I tried to be alone in my own 
room, but even solitude grew painful in the end. I 
began to play the piano, to practice, but Friedrich 
promptly appeared with the request that I should stop, 
as Herr Wollmeyer could not endure music. I wanted 
to read, but what ? Papa’s library I knew by heart. 
The worn volumes of the Westenberg Circulating 
Library had no attractions for me. I had long ago ex- 
hausted the countess’s collection. It consisted of 
Schultz’s “ Enchanted Rose,” Tiedge’s “ Urania,” a 
few works by Jean Paul, “The Neighbors,” by Fred- 
rika Bremer, and, of course, Schiller and Goethe. I 
would have liked to write to papa’s book dealers in 
Berlin, but I had no money, not a groschen, 

I did not want to borrow of Cousin Himmel, and at 
last I hit upon the plan of translating into German some 
French novel which my French teacher had recom- 
mended. I think it was “The Romance of a Poor 
Young Man.” 

My acquaintances came to call upon me now and 
then. Friedrich conducted them to mamma’s recep- 
tion room. I sat with them on the sofa, and the pain- 
ful recollections which this room and the sight of the 
objects used by her stirred up in me made it impos* 


316 


FOR another’s wrong. 


sible for me to be friendly and cordial. None of my 
callers stayed long, neither little KatheTollen and her 
associates nor the older ladies. “ You must come and 
see us,” they all said. “ If you will allow me,” I 
answered ; but I had no idea of going out to talk of 
subjects I cared nothing about. “ Oh, leave me alone, 
leave me alone !” I could have cried. The countess 
came now and then, but she came directly to my room 
and sat down in the chair by the window, and I seated 
myself at her feet. 

Tell me, my child,” she said, one day. “ All the 
world says that you are secretly engaged ; I am the 
only one who knows nothing about it.” 

I engaged, auntie ? It isn’t true. Who told you ?” 

“ I believe it was first spoken of at a meeting of the 
town council. Wollmeyer’s nephew^ who has a few 
little millions. Of course, everything was exaggerated 
immediately. That must be the Robert Nordmann to 
whom you once wrote, Anneliese ? Well, people al- 
ways know more about us than we do ourselves. Me- 
litta Tollen brought me the news ; you see, I have 
come to ask you.” 

This gave me something to think of. Could my step- 
father have spoken of it ? I was soon enlightened at 
supper that same evening. Something pleasant must 
have happened to him, or, perhaps, it might have 
been the inviting-looking table to which we sat down 
—plovers’ eggs, the first asparagus, salmon, early 
mushrooms, tender radishes and delicious Salvator 
which Friedrich poured skillfulljr into the pol- 


FOR another’s wrong. 


317 


ished goblets. A bunch of woodruff stood on the table 
and filled the comfortable room with its perfume. The 
windows in the adjoining room had been opened. 

It was a warm, muggy spring evening, weather when 
one can actually see the leaves grow and the buds un- 
fold. 

‘‘We are getting along rapidly toward May,” my 
stepfather began, as he skillfully prepared a plover’s 
egg. Whitsuntide will be here before we know it, 
Anneliese.” 

I looked at him in surprise, but said nothing. 

“ It 's even lovelier at the old mill at Whitsuntide than 
it is at Christmas,” he went on, rubbing his beard with 
his napkin — he had emptied his glass at a draught. 
“ Who put that green stuff there ?” he demanded, 
pointing to the woodruff. “ Is it only to smell ? 
Friedrich, tell Cousin Himmel to send up some Moselle 
and sugar, and whatever else is needed for the punch. 
It is thirsty weather, Anneliese. Has Cousin Himmel 
had any news of Robert ?” 

“ I do not know.” 

He lay back in his chair and laughed. “ I am to 
believe that ? I am to believe that of you ? Well, 
never mind ; secrecy is one of the greatest charms of 
love. His health, Anneliese !” 

He emptied his glass to the dregs again. I did not 
move. 

“ You have driven one away to a foreign land with 
your witch’s eyes ; it is to be hoped that you will keep 
the oth^r SLt hoiPQ with th^m md he laughed, 


318 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ You know,” I said very slowly, as I helped myself 
to a dish, “ I will never marry a man who has a stain 
on his name. I owe that to my own name.” 

“ How can the poor fellow help it if his father went 
astray ? Bah ! It ’s all forgotten long ago !” 

He cannot help it, but he has to suffer under it. 
Besides, it is not so entirely forgotten as you think, 
especially in his own home. The whole story is as 
fresh there as if it had happened yesterday.” 

The whole story? What story ?” 

“The story of Nordmann’s misfortune.” 

“ My dear Anneliese,” he said, pompously, “ there is 
no story — there are merely plain facts.” 

“You need not tell them to me ; you must remem- 
ber that I was in the room with mamma when she was 
taken ill.” 

He suddenly grew very pale, sprang to his feet, 
twisted the napkin about his fingers, and hurried from 
the room. 

Cousin Himmel came in immediately after with the 
crystal punch-bowl, sugar and oranges. 

“ What has happened ?” she asked. 

“ I think that Herr Wollmeyer has cut his finger,” I 
answered. 

“ You’ve been quarreling, no doubt,” she observed. 

I was on the point of tel ling her all the circumstances 
when my stepfather came back. 

“It’s a good thing you’re here, cousin,” he said. 
“ Bind this strip of linen tightly about my thumb. 
There, thank you ! Now sit down, old lady, and take 


FOR another’s wrong. 


319 


a sip o£ punch with us,” he went on affably, “ and give 
me a sensible answer. What has Robert said in reply 
to the Whitsuntide proposal ?” 

The old woman looked over at him as she poured a 
bottle of wine into the bowl. 

“ I haven’t written him anything about it. Of course, 
you said it only in joke, Herr Councilor.” 

‘‘ By no means. Be good enough to write him to- 
night.” 

She shook her head. 

“ That is not for me to do.” 

“ Oho ! I am to humble myself and write in per- 
son ?” he demanded, angrily. 

“ I don’t expect that by any means,” she answered. 

Indeed, I should advise you not to, for he would not 
come.” 

He dropped the fork which he was about to raise to 
his mouth and looked at her as though he would pierce 
her through and through. 

“ How do you know?” 

‘‘ It is what I think.” 

“ You think too much, my dear cousin. You, as well 
as this young lady here, would do well to limit the 
activity of your worthy brains. Anneliese already 
seems to be suffering from a hallucination, for she is 
always talking to me about things which she says she 
‘ overheard ’ on the day her mother died. I have 
already consulted the doctor about it, and he considers 
your case a grave one, my dear child. The only thing 
to do is to collect yourself, or you may be seriously ill — 


320 


FOk another’s WRONC. 


here !" He tapped his forehead with his forefingfer. 
“ Do you understand, little daughter ?" 

There was a peculiarly scornful tone in the words, 
and I felt the blood rising hotly to my head. 

“ It is fortunate that I am not the only one suffering 
from this hallucination, that other people are affected 
by it also, and, still more, that it stands in black and 
white !*' I cried, with my old heedlessness. 

Cousin Himmel suddenly seized me by the shoulder. 

“You don’t know what you are talking about, child. 
The beer must have been too strong. Come, come, you 
are nervous, and there is a storm in the air." 

She drew me to my feet, pushed me toward the door 
and across the threshold. The door closed heavily be- 
hind us. Wollmeyer had not moved. How he looked 
I could not tell. The dusk in the room was too deep. 
I felt that I had done an imprudent thing ; that I had 
put him on his guard ; had betrayed to him that with 
Brankwitz’s dearly-bought papers all proofs of the 
crime had not been removed. 

“ Oh, Anneliese !" whispered Cousin Himmel, re- 
proachfully. 

At this I grew violent and blamed her and Robert. 
What was he waiting for? Until he took action I could 
not be free, and I wanted to be free. I wanted to go 
away to earn my own living ; away from this slavery, 
from this air full of vulgarity and crime. And if he 
did not come soon I should fall ill, and then Herr Woll- 
meyer could shut me up at will in an insane asylum. 

I caught up a shawl from a chair and ran out into 


FOR another’s wrong. 


321 


the dark garden. The ancient building lay behind me 
silent and forbidding, like a veritable house of misfor- 
tune. The garden had something gloomy about it even 
in the brightest sunshine. This evening it seemed al- 
most sinister. The surface of the pond lay motionless, 
reflecting the dark sky. The air was sultry and heavy, 
and thunder rumbled in the distance. 

“ Mamma, mamma, if I were only with you !” I cried. 

Then I stopped and listened. A nightingale began 
to wail and sob, and the witchery of a spring night 
seized my lonely heart. Why did Robert delay if he 
really loved me ? He must know that I would die in 
this house. He must have understood that I sent him 
away only from a feeling of duty. If he had stood be- 
fore me now as he had stood on the night of mamma’s 
death, I would have taken refuge in his outstretched 
arms and have said : “ Yes, you are right ! What are 
the dead to us ? What is the home which, after all, is 
none to us ? We are living. We will find across the 
water another and kinder home. Come, come, any- 
where ! Only away from here !” 

Never had I felt the isolation, the defenselessness of 
my position, as now. 

The lamp was lighted in Cousin Himmel’s room. 
Through my tears, I watched the old bent figure glide 
to and fro in the lamplight, as, in my childhood, I had 
so often watched her from the same spot — the great 
linden, whose trunk, at about a man’s height from the 
ground, forked into two trees, and at this point formed 
a famous seat. 


322 


FOR another’s wrong. 


I had climbed up to this natural seat from the bench 
below, and was staring across at Cousin Himmel. She 
seemed to be busy at her chest of drawers ; she 
stooped down and straightened up again, and then 
went to the table and remained sitting there, her head 
bent, as though she were reading or writing ; her 
shadow fell upon the entire rear wall of the room, a 
wonderfully-shaped shadow. Before the two windows 
were gratings, as there were before all the windows on 
the lower floor, heavy wrought iron gratings, with artis- 
tic arabesques on the lower half. I had once copied 
these thistle-like flowers ; the thistle was the heraldic 
flower of the Serrenburgs. I made up my mind to 
sketch the whole house as I now saw it before me, 
gloomy in the evening light, and also when it lay in 
brilliant sunshine. Here I had tasted all the happi- 
ness and unhappiness of my life ; it would be a sou- 
venir for me. 

I would have liked to sit there all night, but the 
movements of the old woman within — she was walking 
about the room again — were a sign to me that she was 
getting ready for bed ; so I slipped down from my 
perch and walked slowly in the direction of the house. 

A few drops splashed against my face ; it was be- 
ginning to rain. One can sleep so well when it 
rains,” mamma had always said. I was tired, mortally 
tired, but I made a little detour, nevertheless, before 
leaving the garden. When I entered my room, I did 
not see the old woman, but on the table near the lamp 
stood a tray with two large frosted goblets of punch. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


323 


I stretched out my hand toward them and then drew 
it back ; I was very thirsty at the time. At this mo- 
ment Cousin Himmel entered the room. 

“You didn’t drink any, did you, Anneliese ?” she 
asked, taking up the tray to carry it out. “ It is such 
sweet, sickening stuff ; he likes it sweet like that. I 
will set it outside ; the servants can have it.’’ 

I agreed with her. 

“ We had better go to bed now, if you are ready,” 
she said, when she came back. 

I always went to bed at nine o’clock now. What 
else was there for me to do ? The only time when I 
felt secure was when Cousin Himmel had turned the 
keys in our bedroom doors. I stroked her cheeks 
when we said good night. They were wet, and a few 
glittering drops were scattered over her cap- 
strings. 

“ Have you been out, Cousin Himmel I asked, in 
astonishment. 

“ Yes,” she admitted. “ I only went across the court- 
yard to the gardener’s to see about the asparagus for 
to-morrow.” 

I was sitting, partly undressed, on the edge of my 
bed a few minutes later, when I heard her call. She 
could not find the key to her door, which opened into 
the hall ; would I please look around a bit, my eyes 
were younger than hers. 

We made the tour of the room three or four times 
and lifted the mat before the door ; nothing was to be 
seen of the key. It was an old-fashioned lock; the 


324 


FOR another’s wrong. 


key enormous ; it could not possibly have slipped out 
of sight. 

“ It is very strange, cousin,” I said. 

“ I can’t think what has happened to it,” she an- 
swered. “ I didn’t put it outside to-day at all, because 
I haven’t been away. And a little while ago when I 
left the room I saw it in the lock.” 

“ What shall we do ?” I asked. 

“ Nothing, childie ; we will sleep with an open door. 
Or are you afraid ?” 

“ I ? No !” 

“ Then go to bed with your mind easy. If any one 
wants to rob you, he will have to go through my room 
first.” 

“ Don’t speak of such a thing, cousin,” I said, and 
put out my light. 

But I could not sleep ; Heaven knows what fantastic 
nonsense kept running through my head. Before long 
I thought I heard steps, then a rustling and low breath- 
ing. “ You silly girl !” I said to myself. Cousin Him- 
mel in the next room coughed once or twice, and this 
reassured me. Outside, the rain was falling steadily. 
The monotonous sound soothed me, and I fell asleep. 

Suddenly I awakened — what it was that roused me, 
I cannot tell ; the next instant I was sitting upright in 
bed, listening. The clock of St. Mary’s was just strik- 
ing two. The rain was still splashing down. From 
Cousin Himmel’s room came the sound of some one 
moving about, a soft, careful groping, and a rustling, 
as of papers, or something of that sort. Holding my 


FOR another’s wrong. 


325 


breath, and my heart beating furiously, I crept toward 
the half-open door in my noiseless felt slippers. What 
could the old woman be doing ? 

Near the bureau I saw a figure, a dark figure, busily 
engaged in rummaging through the drawers. Cousin 
Himmel never closed her shutters, so there was a dim 
light in the room. The old woman was in bed, asleep. 

My knees shook, and my tongue grew as heavy as 
lead. Then I slammed the door to with a resounding 
crash, and ran to the electric bell. The shrill peal 
sounded through the house. 

“ Help !” I cried, running into the hall from my 
room. ** Thieves, thieves !” 

A dark figure rushed past me toward the front hall. 
I kept the bell ringing. 

I ran in to Cousin Himmel. 

For God’s sake wake up, wake up !” I struck a 
light with trembling fingers. “ There have been 
thieves here ! You have been robbed ! Look and see !” 

The old woman sat erect in bed without showing 
any signs of surprise. 

“ Look and see !” I repeated, impatiently. 

“ Yes, yes !” she murmured. “ Anneliese, do get 
dressed ; you will take cold. I will get up at once.” 

The house was now astir ; the chambermaid ap- 
peared and the cook. Cousin Himmel had dressed 
hurriedly. They examined the chest of drawers ; part 
of the contents of the upper drawer was scattered 
about and the remainder was in disorder. Cousin 
Himmel was besieged with questions. 


326 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“I did not see anything,” she said, shortly. 

“But how did the thief get in? He couldn’t have 
climbed in. Send for the police and wake the mas- 
ter. The master ought to come. Where is Fried- 
rich ?” 

The servants cried in confusion. 

“ He is asleep,” said the chambermaid. 

The cook ran upstairs to rouse Herr Wollmeyer. A 
few moments later my stepfather appeared. He be- 
gan to question Cousin Himmel with the frowning 
brow and peevish air of a person rudely awakened 
from sweet dreams. 

“ Is anything really stolen ?” he inquired. “ What do 
you miss, cousin ?” 

“ Nothing,” answered the old woman. “ The thief 
probably did not find what he was looking for.” 

“ Is the bank-book there ?” 

“Yes, I am sure it is there. I am not at all afraid 
that the man wanted to rob me of that.” 

“ What did he want, then ?” said one of the maids. 

“ How do I know ?” was the answer. 

Herr Wollmeyer looked about the room. 

“ No one can get in at the window. Some one must 
have concealed himself in the house. Didn’t you no- 
tice any suspicious nois^ or the breaking of the lock ? 
Were you so sound asleep ?” 

“ I was awake, and the door was open,” said Cousin 
Himmel. “ I saw the man come in and I watched him 
all the time.” 

“Why didn’t you call for help?” asked the cook. 


FOR another’s WRONG. 327 

“ The villain might have been sent about his business 
with a sound drubbing.” 

“ I was just about to tell him that he wouldn’t find 
what he was looking for, and that he had better be off, 
when Fraulein Anneliese rang.” 

“ Perhaps some one can understand such composure,” 
remarked Herr Wollmeyer, and his blinking, glittering 
eyes turned to me. “ Go back to bed, all of you. I 
will send for the police the first thing to-morrow.” 

I could not speak for agitation. I turned and went 
back to my room. The adjoining room was soon 
empty, and Cousin Himmel came to me. She looked 
at me pityingl5^ 

“ You must calm yourself, Annelieschen. Pleasant 
dreams. Things will look differently to-morrow.” 

‘‘ Why didn’t you call me, cousin ?” I asked. 

“ Why should I ? I knew the thief would not find 
anything, so I pretended to be asleep.” 

She put me to bed, brought me a glass of water and 
held my trembling hands. 

“ Poor child, poor child,” she murmured, “ how much 
you have had to go through !” 

‘‘ I cannot bear it any longer ! I shall die here !” I 
cried. “ If we are all murdered here day after to- 
morrow, it wfill be no wonder.” 

The next day I was ill. 

The news of the attempted robbery at Herr Woll- 
meyer’s spread like wildfire through the town. The 
only person who remained unconcerned was Cousin 
Himmel. The countess came, “ just as she was, in 


328 


FOR another's wrong. 


morning- dress,” she said apologetically. She examined 
the open chest of drawers where the old woman’s neat 
kerchiefs, pasteboard boxes, a spectacle-case stitched 
with beads, letters, etc., were jumbled together in con- 
fusion, shook her head and prophesied the end of the 
world if such a thing could happen in Westenberg. 
She could not understand the thief not having taken 
the bank-book that lay uppermost in plain sight. 

“ Have you sent for the police yet ?” she asked. 

Cousin Himmel answered in the negative. 

“ I never heard of such a thing !” she went on ; and 
as Wollmeyer entered just then to inquire of necessity 
how we had gotten over last night’s alarm, a heated, 
war of words ensued between the two in my sitting- 
room, and this time Wollmeyer was the one to sur- 
render, for the resolute old lady declared that if he did 
not report the case, she would. It must be done in the 
interest of all Westenberg. And although she un- 
doubtedly had no right to carry out this threat, it had 
the desired effect upon my stepfather. He dispatched 
Friedrich to the court-house. He was undeniably in a 
very bad humor. He shrugged his shoulders, called 
the whole affair a bagatelle and the interest people 
took in it a morbid desire for sensation ; but when the 
doctor appeared and agreed with the countess that a 
most stringent investigation was due to the town, 
Herr Wollmeyer assumed a somewhat more reasonable 
air. 

The commissary, Herr Braunberg, appeared himself, 
with the sergeant, and my stepfather said to him that 


FOR another’s wrong. 


329 


it was such an extraordinary occurrence that he was 
almost inclined to regard it as a hallucination on the 
part of the two witnesses. 

The polite commissary first examined the scene of 
the act, learned of the episode of the key, shook his 
head when he heard that nothing had been stolen, and 
asked to see me. 

The countess helped me to dress. The entire house- 
hold was assembled in Cousin Himmel’s room as we 
entered. 

Don’t take any further trouble,” Cousin Himmel 
was just saying to the commissary. “ You won’t catch 
him.” 

‘‘Indeed ! Wait and see. Have you any suspicions ?” 

“ Who said anything about suspicions ?” she mut- 
tered. “All I say is that nothing was stolen, so what 
is all this fuss about ? I think that the thief was no 
thief at all, but some inquisitive man.” 

“ Don’t talk such nonsense !” ' my stepfather said, 
angrily. 

“Which of the servants was the first to come in 
answer to your ring ?” the commissary asked, turning 
to me. 

“ We were the first !” the cook and housemaid cried 
in chorus. 

“ Who else is there in the house ?” 

“The man-servant.” 

“ Did the man-servant come immediately ?” 

“ No, he vras asleep,” answered the cook. “ We 
couldn’t rouse him. It was all because of the two big 


330 


FOR another’s wrong. 


glasses of punch he took. The gracious Fraulein and 
Fraulein Himmel hadn’t touched any of it, so he drank 
up every drop himself.” 

Friedrich admitted that the punch had gone to his 
head at once, and that he had scarcely been able to 
keep on his feet ; his head felt queer even now. He 
was not accustomed to wine, he added, in excuse. 

“ Very strong wine, I suppose ?” asked the commis- 
sary. 

“ No, not at all. A bottle of light sack and two bot- 
tles of Moselle,” said Herr Wollmeyer, with a laugh. 

“ And the white drops, Herr Councilor,” the servant 
reminded him — “ the drops that I had to fetch from 
your bedroom.” 

“What kind of white drops ?” asked the commissary. 

“ Essence of orange,” explained Herr Wollmeyer, 
lightly. “ I always add a little. Try it some time, 
Braunberg. It is very delicate, I assure you.” 

“ Have you any suspicions against the man-servant?” 
the commissary asked Cousin Himmel, when the serv- 
ants had left the room. 

“ God forbid ! He is the honestest soul under the 
sun !” she answered quickly. 

“ Do you remember the man’s figure at all ?” he asked, 
turning to me again. 

“ Yes. It was something like Herr Wollmeyer’s — 
broad, compact — what is called thick-set,” I answered. 

Herr Wollmeyer smiled. 

“Very flattering,” he remarked. 

“ Press, gracious Fraulein ?” 


FOR another's wrong. 


331 


“ I don't know ; dark, at all events. I could scarcely 
see anything more than the outlines of the figure.” 

The commissary questioned me no further ; he ex- 
amined the windows again, opened and closed them, 
and shook his head. 

“ Breaking in seems to be out of the question,” he 
said, looking at the strong iron grating. So it is 
either some one who made his way in before the house 
was closed, and kept in hiding, or ” — he stopped and 
looked at Cousin Himmel — “ it was some one in the 
house. Fraulein Himmel, what valuables have you in 
your possession ?” 

“ My bank-book, which is lying on top — it was not 
taken — an. old-fashioned brooch, a silver watch, a few 
silver spoons.” 

“ These are all there ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you possess anything else which, although of 
no apparent value, would be of the greatest value to 
any particular person ?” 

The old woman hesitated for an instant. 

“ Yes,” she said at last, in a loud voice. 

“ To one particular person ?” 

To two persons, Herr Commissary.” 

“ Are both these persons in this house ?” 

“ One of them, yes.” 

My stepfather was standing motionless at the 
door. His eyes were fixed blankly upon the old 
■woman. 

The commissary turned to the countess and cour- 


332 


FOR ANOTHER*S WRONG. 


teously requested her to leave the room. The ser- 
geant was also sent away. Cousin Himmel, Herr 
Wollmeyer, the commissary and I remained alone. I 
grasped the back of a chair with trembling hands. 
What was coming now ? 

“ Tell me all, Fraulein Himmel,” the commissary 
ordered. 

You asked me whether I possessed anything of 
great value to a particular person. I answered, * Yes,’ ” 
replied Cousin Himmel. “ This possession consists of 
two papers, which Herr Wollmeyer ’s first wife en- 
trusted to me at her death, upon condition that I 
should place them in certain hands only in case of the 
greatest necessity.” 

“ And you suspect ?” 

“ I know that these papers are of the greatest im- 
portance to Herr Wollmeyer.” 

“ I know nothing of such papers !” cried my step- 
father. What foolish story is this ? . Herr Commis- 
sary, I beg of you, make an end of this farce !” 

The commissary’s face had suddenly grown so stony 
that Herr Wollmeyer’s words recoiled from it as waves 
from a rock. 

“ Where does this other person who has an equal in- 
terest in these papers live ?” he asked. 

A long pause followed. 

“ Since you have named one, I demand the name of 
the other,” he said, sternly. 

‘‘ Robert Nordmann, at Halle,” said the old woman, 
in a firmer voice. 


FOR another’s wrong. 


3H3 


“ You know positively that this person could not 
have been here last night ?” 

I know it positively,” she replied. 

“Aha,” Herr Wollmeyer interrupted, “now I begin 
to understand. My nephew has a part in this. Per- 
haps, my dear Braunberg, you still remember the stu- 
dent who ran away to America.” 

“ I remember that a young man left your house se- 
cretly. Is he the same, Fraulein Himmel ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He is in Germany now ?” 

“ He is serving his year in the army.” 

“ Has he been here since his return ?” 

“ He was here the night that the second Frau Woll- 
meyer died,” answered Cousin Himmel. 

“ What did he come for ?” 

Cousin Himmel was silent. She looked at the floor 
in embarrassment. My heart was throbbing wildly. 

Herr Wollmeyer gave a malicious smile. 

“ Ah, ha ! What is this I hear, my dear Anneliese ? 
Do you happen to know whom Herr Robert Nord- 
mann’s visit was intended for ?” 

“ What room did he occupy ?” asked Braunberg, tak- 
ing no notice of this piece of coarseness. 

“ This room — the same one that was broken into,” 
the old woman answered. 

“ How long was Herr Nordmann with you ?” 

“ From ten at night until five the next morning. He 
left as soon as he heard that the gracious Frau was 
dead.” 


334 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Herr Nordmann knew nothing about it ?” 

“ No ; the visit was for me. He had come at my 
particular request.” 

“ I ask you once more, Fraulein Himmel, what proof 
have you that Herr Nordmann was not here last night 
— that it was not he who broke in ?” 

“ The simplest in the world ; he does not know that 
I have these papers.” 

“And you are certain that the papers are still in 
your possession — that the thief did not take them ?” 

“ He did not take them ; he could not.” 

“ Then they were not in your chest of drawers ?” 

“They were not in my hands. I had already sent 
them to my nephew.” 

“And when did you do this ?” 

“ Last night.” 

“ Last night ?” The commissary looked at her keenly 
and dubiously. “ How did you happen to send them 
last night ?” 

“ I did not think they would be safe here any longer.” 

“ Have you a postal receipt ?” 

“ No. I sent them by the regular mail. When I 
had made up my mind to send them away, the post- 
office was closed.” 

“ So Robert Nordmann would be in possession of 
certain papers of great importance to him early this 
morning ?” 

“ It wouldn’t take any longer than that for letters to 
reach Halle.” 

The commissary said nothing more, and thoiightfully 


FOR another’s wrong. 


335 


stroked his beard. Herr WoHmeyer wiped his fore- 
head with his silk handkerchief. 

“ It is very strange !” he ejaculated. “ The house 
was broken into last night, and early this morning 
Herr Robert Nordmann is in possession of something 
which is said to be of special value to him !” 

The commissary had taken from his pocket a small 
note-book and was studying it. Then he made a 
memorandum, and calling the sergeant, handed it to 
him, with the order : 

To the telegraph office !” 

Wollmeyer seized him suddenly by the arm. 

Let the matter drop, Braunberg ; I withdraw the 
request for an investigation. Matters are involved 
here — matters of a most delicate nature ; it is quite 
possible that my nephew was here, very probable, in- 
deed ; but not by any means to get a mythical paper 
which, doubtless, consists of some letter left by his 
mother, but to — you know. Braunberg, before the 
engagement cards are printed, you know such delights 
are all the more delightful when they are indulged in 
behind papa’s back — ha, ha !” He laughed jocosel}^ 
and slapped the commissary on the shoulder. “ I will 
take the next train to Halle and have an interview with 
the boy. Come upstairs with me ; we ’ll have a 
glass of red wine together. The affair here is set- 
tled !” 

I started to my feet. I wished to speak. I wished 
to rush across the room and strike the man in the face 
for daring to insult Robert and me. 


336 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Cousin Himmel drew me back and went over to the 
commissary. 

“ I am the one to decide whether the matter is set- 
tled or not !” she qried, with a white face. ** 1 am the 
one whom they meant to rob, and as the matter has 
taken such a turn, I demand that it be sifted to the 
bottom ! The father was innocent of the theft he was 
accused of. I will save the son from a like fate !” 

“ I must remind you that Herr Robert Nordmann is 
suspected of having entered your room by night with 
the purpose of unlawfully possessing himself of papers 
of great value to him,” said the commissar 5 ^ ** He 
will be arrested to-day.” 

‘^Cousin, cousin !” said Herr Wollmeyer, warningly, 
and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief ; the 
ground seemed to be swaying under his feet ; he sat 
down. “ Recollect yourself, dear cousin, recollect 
yourself !” he stammered. “ I will go to Halle and 
arrange the matter ; don’t make the poor boy un- 
happy.” 

But the old woman did not heed him. A shiver ran 
through her body as she supported herself against the 
table, and her face twitched convulsively, but her 
trembling blue lips obeyed her, and, with her eyes 
fixed upon the commissary, she said : “ Her Commis- 
sary, you would be arresting an innocent man. The 
culprit is Herr Wollmeyer. I recognized him when I 
awoke, and I am ready to swear to it under oath.” 



CHAPTER XXIIL 

I cannot tell exactly how events followed one upon 
another. I only know that they came rushing like an 
avalanche upon the house and its inmates. The only 
one who kept up during the entire affair was Cousin 
Himmel. I still remember that some one carried me 
more than led me from the room after Cousin Himmel 
had spoken — that Wollmeyer had laughed scornfully, 
brutally, and had then stopped abruptly ; that the com- 
missary had gone upstairs with him, and that Cousin 
Himmel was left alone in her room. What the old 
woman passed through there God alone knows. 

I knew nothing of the course of the investigation 
which the public prosecutor conducted in person. 
There was a continual going and coming of officials 
and telegraph messengers. Wollmeyer asked to see 
Cousin Himmel after a telegram was received with 
the information that a letter with enclosure had been 
found in Robert’s rooms unopened, as he was still on 
duty. The officials had left the house after Wollmeyer 
had been convicted of the attempted theft. 


[337I 


338 


FOR another’s wrong. 


The hours that followed were full of torture. I lay- 
in my bed, unable to move, and I had to listen to the 
pleading and whimpering of the voice I had hitherto 
heard speak only in tones of anger or self-satisfaction. 
I could not understand the words. I even covered my 
ears with the pillows. But once he cried out so loudly 
that I could not help hearing : 

I demand the paper back again ; it belongs to me ! 
Tell him he may ask what he will ! The fellow can 
have my whole fortune, and the girl along with it ! 
What is the need of all this commotion? I can’t do 
anything more ! Pack up — go to the station — go to 
him — ” And then again that despairing weeping. 

I do not know what she answered, neither have I 
ever learned what she suffered at seeing in such a con- 
dition the man to whom she had once given her whole 
heart. She did not go to Halle. All pity had left her 
after his attempt to lay the base act upon the shoulders 
of the son whose father he had already dishonored. 
Then the man who had been so cunning in all his cal- 
culations gathered his wits together for one last effort 
and solved himself the intricate problem of his life, the 
sum of which was contempt, punishment — ^heavy pun- 
ishment — by an earthly judge, in a manner that was 
the simplest for him as well as for his judges. About 
three o’clock in the afternoon there was the sound of a 
shot in his study. 

Cousin Himmel came into my room. 

“ What was that ?” I asked, and started up with my 
heart throbbing. 


rOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


339 


Something has fallen, I suppose, Annelieschen,” she 
answered. 

Just then the cry of one of the maids echoed through 
the house : 

“ The master ! The master !" 

The old woman went out in silence. 

The first rumors of what had taken place began to 
spread through the town when the doctor was sum- 
moned to certify that Herr Councilor Wollmeyer, for 
reasons yet unknown, had sought death and had 
found it. 

During all that time I sat in the same place, in the 
arm-chair by the stove, without either food or drink. 
The countess, who sat near me, held my hands clasped 
tightly in hers. I could not speak when the court of- 
ficials questioned me. 

“ Let the poor child alone !” begged the countess. 

You see that she is ill." 

The courtyard was full of people, who came and 
went ; a sultry, oppressive air was within and without. 
The acquaintances of the house hurried by with dis- 
turbed faces, and some came in to see me. 

“ What in heaven's name made him do it ?" they 
asked. “ What was the reason ?" ‘‘ Money losses ?" 

“No, the death of his wife!" “Yes, to be sure, he 
had been much changed latterly ; the doctor wanted 
him to travel, but he would not go." “ Poor child ! 
Wholly an orphan now.” So the talk ran on. 

This was in the afternoon ; toward evening no one 


came. 


340 


FOR another’s wrong. 


Softly at first, then more and more loudly and dis- 
tinctly, the news of the true state of the case spread 
among the people who had been accustomed to regard 
this man as a model of all the civic virtues. Suicide, 
because he was convicted of an attempt to remove from 
Fraulein Himmel’s locked chest of drawers a document 
which contained the proof of a heavy crime committed 
in his past. Numberless details which even to-day are in 
the mouths of the Westenbergers when Councilor Woll- 
meyer is spoken of, were brought to light ; but none - 
of them were as dark and as terrible as the reality. 

At ten o’clock that night the body was borne to the 
dead-house at the churchyard. 

The countess had gone home. The night settled 
down upon all the houses and hovels of the little town, 
every inmate of which fell asleep with the thought of 
the dread occurrence. It was a night well suited to 
such a deed. The storm that had been threatening 
the day before had come with wind and rain ; the tall 
trees in the garden moaned and bent in the storm, 
and flash after flash flamed across the sky. 

The servants in the house were afraid ; they sat with 
pale faces around the lamp in the kitchen the whole 
night through, and when a shutter banged and the 
rain dashed against the window-panes they shrieked 
until we could hear them in our rooms. 

Cousin Himmel, her bunch of keys at her girdle, had 
gone upstairs alone to fasten a badly-closed window. 
The doors of the rooms upstairs already bore the magis- 
terial seal. 


FOR another’s wrong. 341 

Some letters, which had come that afternoon, lay 
upon the table in Cousin Himmel’s room. One of 
them was from America, addressed in Brankwitz’s 
handwriting-. 

“You must go to sleep now, Annelieschen,” said the 
old woman, coming in. “ I will stay here with you. 
Indeed it would be much better if you were sleeping 
in the pretty room next the countess.” 

“ And leave you hear alone ! Never, cousin.” 

So we remained together without speaking all that 
terrible night. Sleep did not come to either of us. 
Toward morning the old woman made some coffee. 
When it struck five, she put out the lamp, opened the 
shutters and stood by the window waiting. At last 
she left the room hurriedly. I heard her unlock the 
door and speak to some one. 

I sat up in my chair — Robert Nordmann ! Cousin 
Himmel must have taken him into her room. I did 
not see him. I only heard the sound of his voice. He 
did not say much ; it was she who talked the most. 
Then all grew still again ; he must have gone. 

The countess came in the afternoon. She wanted to 
take me away from the house by force. I refused to 
go. Cousin Himmel could not be left alone. I was 
the only one who knew what she suffered at this 
time. 

On the second day the man was buried quietly in the 
early morning. Cousin Himmel was the only one who 
followed him to his grave. A woman came and stood 
beside her over the open grave. She held a child by 


342 


FOR another’s wrong. 


the hand, a boy of nine, who looked half-defiantly, 
half-fearfully at the coffin. 

“The poor little fellow will have to beg now,” the 
woman had said to Cousin Himmel, so the latter told 
me afterwards. “ Who is there to pay for him ? I 
cannot keep him ; Button Marthe left nothing behind 
her.” 

“ I will see that he does not starve ; keep him until 
the property is settled,” Cousin Himmel had said to 
her, reassuringly. 

So we two went on living in the great house, whose 
upper rooms were still locked and sealed ; legal pro- 
ceedings were not to be opened until after the vacation. 

Summer came, an unusually hot summer, which I 
spent more in the garden than in the house— the gloomy 
old garden which seemed purposely created for a sad 
and melancholy mood. The window’s of the house 
looked across at it so drowsily, and the roses bloomed 
in rare profusion, and never a hand to gather them. 
Cousin Himmel came down the shady path sometimes, 
and seated herself beside me, her hands folded in her 
lap. 

The days were leaden-winged. At last there came 
one when Cousin Himmel asked me : 

“ Is it really true, Annelieschen, that you are going 
away ?” 

I nodded with averted face. 

“ Yes, cousin. I shall be ill again if I stay here long- 
er. I must have something to do. I must work and 
try to forget, and — I think I have been Robert Nord- 


FOR another’s wrong. 


843 


mann’s guest long enough. He is the heir, of 
course.” 

“ But you will stay until October, Annelieschen V* 
The old woman’s lips trembled. “Anneliese, stay un- 
til October !” 

October came round. I lived like the Sleeping Prin- 
cess in the enchanted castle. I heard nothing of the 
outside world — Cousin Himmel had even stopped the 
newspapers. The countess came one afternoon as I 
was walking in the garden, thirty times around the 
large plot, with measured steps like a sentinel. She 
marched beside me, only begging me to slacken my 
gait. 

“ Well, you will soon be free now, chick,” she said. 

Countess Arvensleben has gotten you the place in 
England. I am very much in favor of this engage- 
ment, for it will be much better for you to be some 
distance off just now. The whole province and the 
surrounding villages talk of nothing but this affair, 
and it is really dreadful to take up a newspaper — 
Wollmeyer and Nordmann — Nordmann and Woll- 
meyer !” 

I stopped and looked at her in alarm. 

Yes, Anneliese, who would have thought it ? Now 
I understand why the man had recourse to his pistol. 
There was nothing else for him to do. They are pleas- 
ant things, indeed, that are coming to light. Nordmann 
has acted very well and most honorably, for — listen — 
he has given up the whole of Wollmeyer’s property, 
with the exception of the estate in Thuringia, which 


344 


FOR another’s wrong. 


belonged to his mother. But don't you know all this.>” 
she asked. “ You look at me as though I were mad, 
and yet it concerns you more closely than any one else, 
and — ” 

“ I did not know that the matter was before the 
courts yet. Besides, it concerns me very slightly. 
What have I to do with Wollmeyer’s property ?” 

“ Quite true. But you can’t say that it doesn’t con- 
cern you. There is an old saying, child, that * the bread 
falls out of a beggar’s pocket.’ What does poor Lene’s 
sacrifice amount to now? You won’t get a penny. But 
what I wanted to say was : Nordmann has made over 
the whole of his uncle’s property, won by usury and 
fraud, to the town of Westenberg for the erection of an 
orphan asylum ; we can make famous use of one, for 
I cannot begin to tell you the number of forsaken little 
creatures who never get enough to eat — the rest to 
be used toward a relief fund. Yes, and only think — 
he couldn’t have proved that his father had been un- 
justly sentenced if Cousin Himmel hadn’t had a few 
bits of paper that made the whole story clear — a let- 
ter written by the first wife which proved that the 
elder Nordmann was not a thief, and a paper which the 
elder Brankwitz had given his accomplice, Wollmeyer, 
a receipt for a very considerable sum which Wollmeyer 
had paid him for Langenwalde in good government 
bonds and hard cash, three days after his sworn declar- 
ation of insolvency. And, of course, the worthy man — 
God forgive him his sins — was trying to get possession 
of these papers when you cried out for help and 


FOR ANOTHER S WRONG. 


345 


brought the whole business to light. Why, Anneliese, 
the whole story is all in the newspapers under the title : 
‘ Restoring of a Dead Man’s Honor.’ ” 

“ I have not read anything, auntie.” 

“ You mustn’t worry about it, child. Wollmeyerhas 
hoodwinked other people besides your poor mother and 
me. 

“ He never hoodwinked me, auntie,” I answered. 

“ That ’s true,” she admitted, “you never could bear 
him from the very beginning. But as I said, child, it 
will be better on the whole for you to go away from 
here for awhile. The story will die out in time. For 
the present it will be an obstacle in your future, 
although you are not in the least to blame for it. Be- 
sides, there is no one here whom it will give you any 
particular pain to leave — I mean any one in whom 
your heart is bound up so that it seems impossible for 
you to tear yourself away. Cousin Himmel and I are 
only two old women, and you know that we will think 
of you with every beat of our hearts, and that as long 
as my old eyes are open you have a refuge with me if 
waves outside should dash too high.” 

“ You are right, auntie. I have no one besides you 
two, but that is a very, very great deal, and it will be 
very hard for me to leave you.” 

“ H’m !” was all she said. 

She had probably expected that I woiild contradict 
her. I could not. I believed that Robert had long 
ago forgotten me, and even if he had not, the terrible 
catastrophe would lie between us like an abyss, which 


346 


FOR another’s wrong. 


even the most ardent aifection could not succeed in 
bridg-ing. 

“ Well, then, so you will go to England ?” the countess 
asked. 

“ Yes, auntie.” 

“ Your belongings — your mother’s belongings, I 
mean — you may send to my house, Anneliese.” 

“ Yes, auntie ; thank you so much.” 

“ I will take you as far as Hamburg, chick. I have 
been wanting to go there for some time.” 

I nodded, deeply touched. 

“ What sort of a man is this Nordmann ? He must 
be a wonderful creature. Most people in his place 
would have kept the money. But, of course, he has 
such a lot of his own ! Still, it was nice of him ; in- 
deed, he has acted most honorably throughout. All he 
wished was to clear his father’s memory. He is deeply 
pained at having to fix a crime upon a man who can no 
longer defend himself, but he could not do otherwise ; 
he owes it to his dead parents and to his own family, 
if he should ever have one. Why, what is it, Anne- 
liese? You are crying ! You are panting from even 
this little walk ! We will go in — that is, you will. I 
haven’t any time. Walk slowly. I will go home and 
settle your affair.” 

She kissed me on the forehead. “Courage, child, 
things aren’t half as bad as they seem.” 

I remained standing beside the old linden and leaned 
my head against the trunk. The garden was deserted 
and full of autumnal sadness. The evening mist from 


FOR another's wrong. 


347 


the pond rose and hung like a thin veil upon the trees ; 
the leaves lay withered and dank upon the ground. 
The world was so still, so drowsy, that it seemed as 
though she longed to sleep, weary of blossoming, and 
of summer. If one could also sleep like this, to awaken 
to a spring, after a delightful rest ! Why does one 
have to live on and on under a gray sky, without sun- 
shine, without warmth, forsaken, alone, among stran- 
gers in a strange land ? How sweet, how wonderful it 
would be to have Robert stand before me now, as he 
had stood before me on the night of mamma’s death, 
and hear him say : “ Come, Anneliese !” But he 

would never say that again ; too great a wrong lay 
between us, a terrible wrong — another’s wrong. 

A timid voice within me tried to protest : But he 
does love you ; he will come. Patience, Anneliese ; 
patience ! But patience had never been my strong 
point. How can we be patient when we love and think 
that the loved one does not share our yearning ? No, 
he did not love me ! It had been pity, compassion for 
the poor, tortured girl ! Now he knew that the tor- 
ture was ended and freedom had come. Take flight, 
poor, caged bird, and seek a sheltering roof among 
strangers ! 

“ If he had wanted to come, he would have come 
long ago,” I said, wiping my tearful eyes ; and so, for- 
ward, like a brave soldier’s daughter ! Be the true 
child of the father who always used to say : “ There 

is no greater waste in the world than of the time spent 
in thinking about the unalterable and in picturing how 


348 


FOR another’s wrong. 


things might been been !” It is hard, to be sure, but 
courage, Anneliese ! Begin to-day with the hardest 
task of all and select the familiar objects in the midst 
of which you have grown up ; the furniture and effects 
of your father’s home, all that you cannot take away 
with you into a strange land, the countess will keep 
for you. Where she means to stow them in her little 
house, heaven only knows ! So forward, Anneliese, 
forward ! 

With a jerk, which made me smile in spite of my- 
self, I detached myself from the tree-trunk and ran 
through the misty garden toward the house. It was 
already quite dark in my room, but the fire in the tiled 
stove flung its red light upon the floor. It was so com- 
forting, after the mists outside. Ah, who knew where 
I should find another such dear, cozy little spot to 
weave out my thoughts in solitude ? Who knew 
whether I should ever have moments to myself again, 
and, if I did, would it not be only to spend them in 
longing — wild, passionate longing for a friendly word, 
for a caress from Cousin Himmel’s wrinkled old hand ? 
I loved my home in spite of everything, from the time 
when the old house had seemed my own property ; 
when papa and mamma were happy and I sat on the 
sofa between them in the twilight, my little dog in my 
lap, and, behind me, their hands clasped in silent con- 
tent. Then came all the sadness ; but the brightness 
of those other days was so potent that it outshone the 
misery, and made the thought of leaving this home 
forever seem impossible at this moment, 


FOR another’s wrong. 


349 


I sat and stared with burning eyes at the fire. 
Ah, yes, there were fires everywhere to warm one, 
and human happiness still existed in the world, but 
not for me ! For when one goes out among strangers 
one must throw overboard one’s personal feelings and 
wishes, together with other superfluous baggage. I 
wished that the countess would give up her idea of go- 
ing with me to Hamburg. What was the use of pro- 
longing the pain of parting ? Oh, I loved Germany so ! 
Was not Germany large enough to hide me ? Must 
the ocean be placed between me and my unhappy 
past ? 

Cousin Himmel was making a clatter in the next room 
with the coffee things. It was incredible how soon it had 
grown dark with the fog. And in England the fog 
would be even worse ; and, oh, I loved the sun so 
dearly ! To think of having lights all day long, and 
the children — two boys and a girl, who would probably 
be bad — with me all the time, together with that long- 
ing ! Perhaps I should fall ill and die. Did people 
ever really die of homesickness ? But before one dies, 
one has to be ill, and what a dreadful thing it is to be 
ill among strangers, in a hospital, with countless beds 
ranged along the walls, and in each bed a groaning 
wretch, to vrhose own agony is added the agony of 
others ! 

Yes, this also might come to me. 

The blaze in the stove grew duller. Cousin Himmel 
did not call me. Some one must have come to speak 
to her — the gardener or the postman or — Then the 


350 


FOR another’s wrong. 


door behind me opened, a ray of light fell across the 
brown-and-white tiled stove, and then the door closed 
again. Cousin Himmel had probably looked in to see 
whether I was there or not, and had not seen me. 

All grew dark and silent once more. Or, had some 
one entered the room ? A foolish fear seized me, as 
though some one were standing behind me and looking 
at me. 

** Anneliese !” said a voice, softly, uncertainly. A 
voice — ah, a voice ! Was I dreaming ? I did not stir. 

“ Anneliese, did you not expect me ?” 

I tried to rise, but I could not, I was trembling so. 
Then he bent down and lifted me in his arms. 

“ Did you not expect — did you not know — that I 
would come to-day ? Are you going to send me away 
again ? No, you cannot, you must not, Anneliese, be- 
cause my father is again an honorable man, as your 
father was, and you need not be ashamed to be called 
Anneliese Nordmann. Anneliese, speak just one word 
to me.” 

But I could not, gladly as I would. I only cried. 

He led me to the old arm-chair by the stove, and I 
sat down, and he knelt before me. 

“ My little girl, don’t cry any more. You have done 
with crying now. You shall never again have any 
cause for it. Don’t think of the past ; of these last 
dreadful years ; of all that they have taken from you. 
Think only that they have given us to each other. Do 
you remember that New Year’s morning in the sleigh ? 
You thought it was a kiss of parting ? I did, too, but 


FOR another's wrong. 


351 


only for a moment, for then I knew it was the begin- 
ning of a great happiness. We will be married at the 
old mill, do you hear ? Not now ; no, no ; but you are 
to live there now. I want to be able to think of you as 
being there. You are to go with Cousin Himmel as 
soon as possible. A year from Christmas I will come 
back ; then the sleigh shall carry us to the little 
church, Anneliese ; and after that we will go to my 
mother’s grave. And before we start out into the world 
Cousin Himmel shall lay her hands upon our heads — 
those faithful old hands which will guard our home for 
us until I have shown you my new home across the 
water.” 

No one need know what I answered. We separated 
late at night with an Auf iviedersehen^ and Cousin 
Himmel stood by happily, keeping back the tears for 
the sake of her dim old eyes. 

For,” she said, “salt water burns so, Robert, and 
my eyes are weak and I want to spare them, so that 
they can look upon the face of happiness once more.” 

My refuge that evening was the old arm-chair by the 
stove. Cousin Himmel slept soundly and peacefully 
near by ; but I — how could I sleep after these hours 
of happiness ? I nestled against the time-honored 
cushions with a delightful feeling of security, and re- 
peated softly to myself : “In a year— a year from 
Christmas !” 

The next morning I went to see the countess. She 
was sitting in the spotless kitchen, peeling plums for 
winter preserves. 


352 


FOR another’s wrong. 


“ Auntie, I am not going to England ; write and say 
so !” I called to her. 

“ It is impossible, I am sorry to say,” she answered, 
dryly, and looking very much offended. 

“ Dear, auntie, you must ; please, please !” 

“ No, I’ve already written my fingers stiff. I sha’n’t 
change things now. You ought to be thankful that 
you have gotten such a position — a hundred marks a 
month and only three children to teach. You are 
acting just as your mother used to. One ought to 
know one’s own mind !” 

“ But, auntie, I know very well what I want. I want 
to stay with Cousin Himmel at the mill.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! How can you think of eating up the 
poor old woman’s scanty bit of bread ?” 

“ But if I tell you that Cousin Himmel will be eating 
my bread, almost, auntie, almost — ” 

Lieber Himmel! Has Wollmeyer left you some- 
thing ? Anneliese, surely you would not take that ! 
If so — ” and she drew her sticky knife across the 
scoured surface of the table — “ if so, I will solemnly cut 
the table-cloth between us, for you are not the girl I 
took you for.” 

“ I haven’t inherited anything. I have only become 
engaged, auntie ; but no one must know it for the 
present except you.” 

She let me talk on ; her broad face, usually ex- 
pressive enough, was rigid. “ Nonsense,” she cried, 
flinging knife and plums into the dish, and banging 
the latter down so violently upon the table that I 


FOR another’s wrong. 


B53 


cannot understand to this day why the earthen vessel 
refrained from breaking. 

“ Come upstairs. I suppose this is another pie ce of 
folly !” 

Once upstairs, she put me through a cross-examina- 
tion that would have done credit to a lawyer. 

“ Who ever heard of such a thing !” she exclaimed 
at last. ‘‘And you never told me a word ! Well, 
come here. I forgive you, and, of course, I ’ll be at 
the wedding, and — he is an honorable man, or he would 
have kept the ill-gotten money for himself instead of 
giving it to the poor.” 

“ I was to give you his respects, auntie, and to ask 
you whether you could make use of the lower rooms of 
the castle for your infant school. The upper story is 
to be fitted up for the orphans, and the first one to 
enter it will be Button Marthe’s boy.” 

“ Why, it will save me two hundred and fifty marks 
a year rent. Of course I can make use of them. You 
are not going to live there ? I can’t blame you. Of 
course I accept — of course.” 

“ Auntie, you will keep it all a secret, won’t you ? 
We are not even going to see each other just now. I 
don’t want to be perfectly happy. I am still in mourn- 
ing for mamma.” 

She nodded and held me close to her. 

“ Lene’s sacrifice was not made in vain, after all,” 
she said. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

What a winter it was that followed in the snows of. 
the mountains ! What a summer in the green of 
the forests, with always the thought of him, always 
the consciousness of a joy that drew nearer every day ! 
Not a step into the wilderness of pines without some 
sweet remembrance, not a look at the comfortable 
rooms without the promise of happy days. And when 
he came on a visit, when Hiibner had the pretty bas- 
ket-carriage drawn out of the stables and harnessed 
the two fat horses to fetch the “ master ” home from 
the station, when I began to look for him a whole hour 
too early — \vould he never come ? And when he came 
at last and vaulted up the staircase at two bounds and 
reached the door in another two and took me in his 
arms — ah, such happiness comes to one but once in 
this world ! 

We decided upon changing and beautifying the 
sweetest spot on earth — that was to be the mill and 
manor-house in one ; we founded a home for the poor ; 
we had plans drawn for a new school-house — the old 
one was falling to ruin — and I spent six months in em- 
broidering an altar-cloth, which was to be displayed in 
[ 354 ] 


FOR another’s wrong. 


355 


the little church for the first time at our wedding, and 
was never to be used except for bridal couples. 

Cousin Himmel brought out all her exquisite linen 
and allowed it to be cut up, and then came the Christ- 
mas-tide that was to be the sweetest of all Christmases 
to me. 

Robert did not return from America until three days 
before. He had gone over in July. He was to come 
to me on Christmas Eve, and two days later the wed- 
ding was to take place. 

Once more it was snowing, and once more a holy 
calm lay over the silent forests and mountains. Once 
more the village people came out of the woods with fir- 
trees, and once more the odor of Frau Hiibner’s Christ- 
mas cakes filled the house. As in those other days, the 
postmen staggered along under their load of bundles, 
and, as then, I walked along the high-road, but not sad 
and lonely this time. Ah, no ! 

If my father and my mother had been walking behind 
me, arm in arm, there would have been for once a per- 
fect happiness in this old world. But the sad past Jay 
like a mournful veil over all the joy of the present. 

And there was the little wall upon which I had sat 
two years ago ; and, as I had done then, I pushed aside 
the snow and sat down to wait. As I had done then, I 
let my glance wander across the silent woodland, 
Christmas solitude. But there was nothing but grati- 
tude and hope in my heart, and a soft, sweet feeling 
of happiness which rose to a wild throb as the jingling 
of the sleigh-bells sounded through the silent air. 


356 


FOR another’s wrong. 


I remained perfectly quiet as the conveyance turned 
the corner. The horses’ heads came in sight first ; red 
knots of ribbon nodded on their harness beside the 
sprigs of fir. Then Herr Hiibner himself, in holiday 
array, and a crimson ribbon floating from his whip. I 
laid my finger to my lips, and he smiled, for he under- 
stood me ; he drove past very slowly. 

But the man in the sleigh neither saw nor heard ; he 
was staring fixedly ahead of him. There was a glad 
look on his face — that dear, earnest face. I looked 
straight at him. Had not my glance the power to 
rouse him from his meditation ? Ah, yes ! He looked 
in my direction. With one bound he was out of the 
sleigh and had me in his arms. 

“Oh, my darling, I might have known you would be 
here, here at this spot !” 

The sleigh went on and turned the corner of the 
cliff. We were alone with our happiness. I think we 
sat upon the wall together without noticing either the 
cold or the snow. 

Two days later our wedding took place ; it was as 
Robert had said. We plighted our troth on the same 
spot where his parents had plighted theirs. Behind 
us stood four persons — Cousin Himmel and the count- 
ess (a wonderful pair of bridesmaids), and Herr Hiibner 
and his good wife. As I came down the aisle at Robert’s 
side I saw nothing but friendly faces. They held 
silken ribbons before us, and the little girls strewed 
fir-boughs in our path, and the school children in the 
choir sang “ Praise to the Lord !” 


FOR another’s wrong. 


357 


Ah, one thing only was lacking — the presence of my 
poor mother. 

The countess understood my tears ; she took me in 
her arms in the pretty dining-room of our new home. 

“ Chicken,” she said, “ she is at rest — at peace. There 
are some whom the Master calls to him because they 
are not happy here. Be glad, for her sake.” 

And as the darkness fell, the sound of sleigh-bells 
echoed once more through the silent forest, and two 
young people went out into the world together. 

“ Good-by, Frau Anneliese,” Cousin Himmel had 
called. 

She looks like a woman, indeed, that little black 
thing, with her child’s face ! But the eyes — yes, the 
eyes !” remarked the countess. 

Six months later we returned, to live in Germany 
forever. 

Oh, my dear, silent home, how beautiful you are in 
your dreamy peace ! 

Robert has sold his business in America. We live 
nine months of the year in the lonely mountains. Not 
to become entire strangers to the outside world, we go 
to some large city every year at Christmas. But we 
count the days until we are back again, where every 
stone knows us and the people have such friendly 
greetings for us ; where the mill clatters and the brook 
murmurs and the wind rustles in the tree tops. We 
are both fond of solitude, perhaps because our experi- 
ence with men has been so sad, or perhaps because 
we are sufficient unto one another, we and our two 


358 


FOR another’s wrong. 


children, to whom the countess and Cousin Himmel 
stood sponsors, and who are the pride of Cousin Him- 
mel’s heart. However that may be, we are happiest 
in our mountains. Robert is a model landlord and a 
mill-owner — such a mill as you would have to go far to 
find. And I, apart from the bringing up of the chil- 
dren, have plenty of time to devote to everything 
beautiful that interests me ; and it sounds very harmo- 
nious when I play the piano and the mill beats time to 
Schubert’s Schdne Mullerin.” Then Robert sits in 
the window seat and looks at me, and opposite him 
sits our dear old guardian angel, the bigger of the boys 
between her knees. She nods dreamily to herself ; 
her old eyes have, indeed, looked upon the face of hap- 
piness once more I 


THE END. 



An American Society Novel. 


GIRLS OF A FEATHER. 

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WOOING A WIDOW. 


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Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Attractive NoveL 


HER LITTLE HIGHNESS. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

NATALY VON ESCHSTRUTH, 

Author of A Priestess of Comedy f ** Countess Dynarf 
** A Princess of the Stage f etc., etc. 

BY 

ELISE L. LATHROP. 


WITH IL U8TRA TIONS B Y JAMES FAG A N. 

12mo. 303 Fasres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth* Price, $1.26. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Her Little Highness” is Baroness Eschstruth’s latest book 
and one of the most charming novels that has come from her 
pen. The little princess, who is the heroine of the story, is the 
heir of a ducul throne, which in Germany makes her a being apart 
from the rest of the world, which tends to heighten the piquancy of 
a being so very human and so very natural. Her little highness is a 
little woman from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and her 
love of Valleral, a gay and frolicsome courtier, is the most natural 
thing in the world. However unsuitable for the husband of a 
princess Valleral may be, the reader of the novel will enjoy the 
situation that the love affair creates. Valleral is a widower, with 
a son almost as old as the princess, and as sober as the father is 
frivolous. The little princess’s fate is bound up with these two, 
and we could not detail all the complications in their relations 
without depriving the reader of the pleasure of following out for 
himself a most interesting love story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. ‘ 


An Excellent New Novel. 


INVISIBLE HANDS. 


‘ AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

F. VON ZOBELTITZ, 

BY 

S. E. BOGGS, 

Trajislator of The Little Countess f etc, 

WITH ILVSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAQ AN. 

12mo. 872 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a most excellent novel. The incidents are natural and 
probable, although uncommon ; and the admirable plot is based 
on transactions in Berlin and in Italy, both German and Italian 
characters figuring in it. It is rare that anything so powerful and 
dramatic comes to us in the form of German fiction. The story 
is intensely interesting, constantly gaining as new characters and 
fresh incidents are introduced in the working-out of the plot. 
The character of the Italian lawyer is worthy of the times of 
of Machiavelli. It presents a lovely picture of German family 
life, and the female characters represent all that is charming in 
girlhood and womanhood. This is a novel which everybody can 
read with pleasure and profit. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT’ BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William anp Spruce Streets, New York. 


Yet She Loved Him, 

By Mrs. Kate Vaughn, 

and 

Jephthah’s Daugfhter, 

By Julia Magruder, 

Author of Magnificent Plebeian f **At Anchor f 
^Monored in the Breachf etc. 


With Illustrations by Warren B. Davis. 


12mo. 839 Fagres. Handsomely Boxmd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


*‘Yet She Loved Him” is a popular and sensational story 
of English life. It has many elements of interest, and will 
please all readers to whom a good story is the principal thing 
in a novel. Miss Magruder’s novelette, “Jephthah’s Daughter,” 
which is appended, is of a distinctly higher character. It is 
based upon the Biblical narrative, and is written in a style 
peculiarly appropriate to the subject, and full of beauty. The 
story is a brilliant piece of work. Nothing which Miss Magruder 
has written exhibits greater literary ability or more sustained 
power. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Novel by Fanny Lewald. 


The Mask of Beauty. 

AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

Fanny Lewald, 

BY 

Mary M. Pleasants. 

With Illustrations by F. A. Carter. 

12mo. 840 Fa«res. Handsomely Botmd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Fanny Lewald is one of the most celebrated writers of Ger- 
many. Her books have enjoyed great popularity, but few of them 
have been translated into English. This is a story of Hela, a 
peninsula jutting out into the Baltic Sea, of which Dantzig is the 
principal town. The maid of Hela is a poor orphan, whose rare 
beauty is the cause of her many trials. She is bred in a fishing 
village among a superstitious people, full of curiosity, and isolated 
from her neighbors by reason of her parentage and religion. The 
story is a minute and realistic study of character, manners and 
customs of an out-of-the-way corner of the world. The extra- 
ordinary beauty of the girl Catherine, whose life history is nar- 
rated, is made the cause of every important situation and the 
final tragedy of the novel. Nothing can be finer than the patient 
and loving art with which the author has developed her subject, 
and exhibited beauty as the mask of a pure and beautiful soul 
unconscious of the dangerous possession. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel by the Author of “ In the China 5ea.** 


Two Gentlemen 

of Hawaii 


BY 

5eward W. Hopkins, 

Autho7'‘ of ''In the China Sea^' etc. 

With Illustrations by M. Colin. 

12mo. 244 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This novel deals with the revolution in the Hawaiian Islands. 
It takes the part of the revolutionists. It gives a complete 
account of the exciting events, beginning with the deposition of 
Queen Liliuokalani, the institution of the provisional government 
under President Dole and the offer of the islands to the United 
States. It is a thrilling picture of a period of intrigue, danger 
and revolutionary violence. Most of the characters are Ameri- 
cans concerned in the revolution, and the story is written from 
the point of view of a partisan who believes that the peace and 
prosperity of the islands are bound up with, the new movement. 
It is a lively and interesting tale, full of sensation, with a vivid 
picture of the scenery and life of the islands and of the fatal 
malady with which the natives are afflicted. ‘The terrors of lep- 
rosy are described. The superstitions of the Islanders and the 
volcanic eruptions on the Island of Lanai form a tragic back- 
ground to the story. At the present time, when public attention 
is engaged by the events transpiring in these islands, this novel 
has an especial attractiveness. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Story of the French Revolution. 


The Shadow of 

the Guillotine. 


BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of “ The Gunmaker of Moscow “ The 
Outcast of Milan^' ""Blanche of 
Burgundy etc,y etc. 

With Illustrations by Wan*en B. Davis. 

12mo. 429 Fagres. Handsomely Botind in Cloth. Price, $100. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is an interesting and thrilling novel. Like all of Mr. 
Cobb’s works, it is interesting as a story from the beginning, 
dealing with historical scenes and events of one of the most ex- 
citing epochs of modern times. The French Revolution was the 
first great outbreak of the people against hereditary power and 
privilege. The ideas of liberty and equality and government by 
the people, which were its active principle, were obscured and 
caricatured in the sanguinary tumult and riot into which the 
movement degenerated under the leadership of Robespierre and 
his companions. Through this tempest of fire and blood Mr. 
Cobb takes his readers, and fastens their attention while portray- 
ing the charming and manly characters whose story he tells. The 
thousands who have read The Gunmaker of Moscow ” will en- 
joy this novel. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Story of a French Millionaire. 


Mystery of Hotel Brichet. 

AFTER THE FREXCH OF 

Eugene Chavette. 


With Illustrations by James Fagan* 


12mo. 858 Fagres. Handsomely Botind in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a French novel the scene of which is Paris of the last 
century. The great robber Cartouche on his trial betrays his 
associates, and it is through one implicated by his testimony that 
the author introduces the history of the House of Brichet. Truth 
is said to be stranger than fiction, but the story of the galley- 
slave who escapes from Toulon to figure as the possessor of mil- 
lions in the capital of France will compare favorably with anything 
that ever happened in the world of reality. It is seldom that a 
novel filled with exciting incidents is so entirely consistent from 
beginning to end and which gains in interest as the plot develops. 
'JWie novel has something of the spirit and ‘^go” of Alexander 
Dumas’s famous guardsman series, the most amusing character 
being a guardsman, a swordsman and a duelist. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Historical Novel. 


Blanche of Burgundy. 

BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of ‘‘ The Gunmaker of Moscow f etc. 


With Illustrations by H. M. Saton. 


12mo. 419 Fag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


“ Blanche of Burgundy ” is a novel based upon incidents and 
scenes of a most interesting period of French history. It is the 
time of Charles the Ninth. The realm is divided into twelve great 
baronies or fiefs, the heads of which are princes almost independ- 
ent, owing military service and tribute to their sovereign. Charles 
has departed from France on the great mission of the Crusaders 
to rescue Palestine from the Moslem. The Duke of Burgundy, 
father of Blanche, is about to embark with his army for Egypt to 
join the king, but, before doing so, he awaits the marriage of his 
daughter, the beautiful Blanche, to Gregory of Tranche Comte. 
The latter proves a difficult subject, and the complications which 
ensue make a highly interesting novel. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY 


No. AND Title. 

1— Her Double Life 

-—Unknown 

The Huiiiiinker of Moscow... 

4— Maud Morton 

o — The Hidden Hand 

(i— Sundered Hearts 

7 — The Stone-Cutter of Lisbon.. 

8— Lady Hilda re 

9— Cris Kock 

10— Nearest and Dearest 

11— The Bailiff’s Scheme 

12— Leap in the Dark 

13— Henry M. Stanley 

li— The Did Life’s Shadows 

ll — A Iliad Betrothal 

lt>— The Lost Lady of Lone 

17— lone 

18 — For Woman’s Love 

19— Cesar Birotteaii 

20— The Baroness Blank 

21— Parted by Fate 

22 — The Forsaken Inn 

2;-{— Otti ie Aster’s Silence 

24— Edda’s Birthright 

2.)— The Alchemist 

2(3 — Under Oath 

27— Cousin Pons 

28— The Unloved Wife 

29— Lilith 

30— llenuited 

31— Mrs. Harold Stagg 

32 — The Breach of Custom 

33— The Northern Light 

34— Beryl’s Husband 

35— A Love Match 

3(3— A Matter of Millions 

37— Eugenie fJramlet 

38— The 1 mnro visatore 

3>9— Paoll, the Warrior Bishop.. - 

40— Under a Cloud 

11— Wile and Woman 

42— An Insignificant Woman 

43— The Carletons 

44— Mademoiselle Desroches 

45— The Beads of Tasmer 

4(3— John Winthrop’s Defeat 

47— Little Healher-Blossom 

48— fjJloria 

49— David Lindsay 

00— The Little Countess 

51— The Chaiitanqiians 

52— The Two Husbands 

53— Mrs. Barr’s Short Stories 

54 — We Parte<l at the Altar 

55— Was She Wife or Widow?... 

5(3— The Country Doctor 

57— Florabcl’s Lover 

58— Lida Campbell 

59— Eillth lYevor’s Secret 

(30— C’ecil llosse 

(31 — Love is l.ord of All 

(.>2— True Daughter of Ilartenstein 
03— Zina’s Awaking 

01— Morris Julian’s Wife 

05— Dear Elsie 

0(J— The Hungarian Girl 

07— Beatrix Bohan 

08— A Son of Old Harry — 

09— Romance of Troiiville 

70— Life of General Jackson 

71— The Return of the O’Majiony. 

72— Reuben Foreman, the Village 

73— Neva's Three Lovers 

74— “ Em” 

75— “Em’s” Husband 


Author. 

Mrs. Jlari’iet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. K, N. Soutliworth 

Sylvauus Cobb, Jr 

Major A. K. Calhoun 

Mrs. E, D. E. N. South worth 

Mrs. Hairiet Lewis 

Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 

Mrs. Hairiet Lewis 

Captain Mayne Reid 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Henry Frederick Keddall 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Honore De Balzac 

August Niemann 

Laura Jeau Libbey 

Anna Katharine Green 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Honore De Balzac 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Honore De Balzac 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

it it it 

A Popular Southern Author 

Robert Grant 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. (Translator).. 

E. Werner 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Anna Katharine Green 

Honore De Balzac 

Hans Christian Andersen 

W. C. Kitchiu 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford 

W. Heimburg 

Robert Grant 

Andre Theuriet 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

J ean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford. (Translator) 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

*• ft it 

S. E. Boggs. (Translator) 

John Habberton 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Malcolm Bell 

Honore De Balzac 

Laura Jean Libbey 

•lean Kate Ludlum 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

ii it 

From the German 

it it 

Mrs. J. Kent Spender 

Elizabeth Olmis 

From the German 

*i ii 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Albion W. Tourgee 

Brehat 

Oliver Dyer 

Harold Frederic 

BIncksmith. Darley Dale 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E, N. Southworth 


Cloth. 

Papkk. 

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THE LEDGER LIBRARY-=Continued 


No. AND Title. 

76— The Haunted Husband 

77— The Siberinii Exiles 

78— The Spanish Treasure 

79— The Kinic of Honey Island — 

80— Slate of the Easter Bell”.. 

81 -The Child of the Parish 

82 —Miss iSIischief 

83— The Honor of a Heart 

84— Transuressina the l.aw 

85— Hearts and Coronets 

86— Tressilinn Court 

87— fJiiy Tressilian's Fate 

88— Slynheer Joe 

89— The Froler Case 

90— A Priestess of Comedy 

91— All or Nothing 

92— A Skeleton in the Closet 

93— Brandon Coyle’s Wife 

94— Love 

95 — The Tell-Tale Watch 

96— Hetty ; or the Old Hriidse — 

97— Hirls of a Feather 

98— Appassionata 

99— Only a (iirl’s Heart 

100— The Itejected Bride 

101— Gertrude Haddon 

102— Countess Dyiiar, or Polish Blood. 

103— A Sleep- W’^alker 

104— A TiOver From Across the Sea and 

105— A Princess of the Stage...... 

106— Countess Obemau 

107— The Giin- Bearer 

108— Wooing a AVidow 

109— Her liittle Highness 

110— 111 the China Sea 

111— Invisible Hands 

112— Yet She Eovetl Him 

113— The niask of Beauty 

114— Two fwentlemen of Hawaii.. 

115— The Shadow of the Guillotine 

116— Mystery of Hotel Brichet 

117— Rlanche of Burgundy 

118— The Opposite House 

119— The Flower of Gala W^ater.. 


Author 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Col. Thomas W. Knox 

Llizabetli C. Winter 

Maurice Thompson 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach 

W. Heimburg 

From the German 

Capt. Frederick Whittaker 

Jane G. Fuller 

Mrs. Harriet I.ewis 

44 44 

ht. George Rathborne •. . 

From the Frencli by H. O. Cooke. 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Count Nepomuk Czapski 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Soutliworth 

44 44 44 

HonoreDe Balzac 

From the German 

J. H. Connelly 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Elsa D’Esterre-Keelina:. 

Mrs. E. D. E. JST. Southworth 

44 44 44 

44 44 44 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Paul H. Gerrard 

Other Sloi’ies. E. Werner 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Julien Gordon 

E. A. Robinson and G. A. Wall... 

Ewald August Koenig 

Nataly voii Escnstruth 

Seward W. Hopkins 

F. von Zobeltitz 

Mrs. Kate Vaughn. 

Fanny Lewald 

Seward W. Hopkins 

SylvanusCobb, Jr 

Eugene Chavette 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 


Cloth. P.\per. 


Every Number Beautifully Illustrated. 


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ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York City. 






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